Hii! Do you know about that one trend where "asking my partner permition to eat" in public or with their parents, now imagine reader doing this to bakugo infront of mitsuki
She would beat up his ass LMAO
── ✶ before you read: fem reader ; established relationship ; mitsuki and masaru are good parents ; katsuki has an aneurysm (almost) ; masterlist.
YOU ARE TOO FUNNY FOR THIS ASK LMAOOO
“Kats, am I allowed to order a drink, too?” You whisper. “This one seems good. It’s okay if I can’t, though.”
Katsuki stiffens, turning to you in disbelief. The waitress pauses. Mitsuki raises a brow. Masaru looks up from the menu in concern.
“What the fuck do you mean allowed—what…what are you talkin’ about?”
“Am I allowed to get it?” You ask, like it’s a simple question. You give him a confused look before you add, “I don’t want to order too much and then upset you.”
The waitress gives him a look from the corner of her eyes. It’s a nasty look if you’ve ever seen one, and coupled by Mitsuki’s eyes narrowing at her son, you have to fight every bone in your body not to laugh.
“Did your head get knocked loose?” He does a double take. “Why the fuck would I be upset? You…okay, you know what,” he turns to the waitress, already having enough of your antics, and says, “add a large drink to that, please.”
“A large drink, got it,” she nods slowly, jotting it down. “How generous of you.”
You bite your lip when he stares after her incredulously as she walks away. And as soon as the waitress is gone, he has another problem just waiting.
You start, “Thanks for letting me get a drink today—”
“And just what do you mean let?!” Mitsuki cuts in, staring between you and her son.
You blink at her with your best innocent look. (One good thing about making it your lifelong hobby to get under Katsuki’s skin is that you’ve learned you’re very good at the innocent look. Exceedingly good.)
“Well, I mean, I know how he feels about me ordering things, so I just wanted to check that it was okay—”
“Hah!? What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Katsuki stares. “How do I feel about you ordering things?”
You shrug sheepishly, feigning, to your credit, a very convincingly nervous look. “I just didn’t want to upset you.”
The look on Masaru’s face twists immediately to heartbreak—like he can’t believe his son would turn out this way. Meanwhile, Mitsuki’s eyes narrow into dangerous slits. Katsuki waves a hand gesturing at you in shock as if to ask, are you seeing this? he stares at his parents helplessly.
“She’s messin’ around, I swear, she always does this—”
“Katsuki.”
“Don’t Katsuki me—I haven’t done anything!”
“You know,” Masaru says carefully, eyeing his son in disappointment, “sometimes people don’t realize they’re behaving a certain way until there are signs. But we have to look at the signs for what they are, son.”
“Dad—”
“No, let me finish.” Masaru holds up a hand. “You’re supposed to be equals in a relationship. If she’s worried about upsetting you over something as simple as ordering a drink, maybe you should ask yourself why she feels that way.”
“Because she’s insane!”
“Katsuki!” Mitsuki hisses, pointing a finger at him as she says, “don’t call her that! The only reason for that is because you’re driving her crazy—look at her! The poor thing! She’s shaking over there, and it’s because of you!”
“She’s not shakin’ for shit! Look—look at her! She’s fighting back a fuckin’ smug little look on her face because she’s—”
Mitsuki suddenly reaches across the table and catches him by the ear. “What have I told you about making girls feel respected, huh? This is why they’ve never liked you! And now one finally does and you’re scaring her off?”
“Ow—you fucking hag!”
She gives his ear a sharp tug. “Language.”
“Ow! Let go, you old—”
You look up innocently, “Please don’t scold him, he’ll be in a bad mood when we get home.”
Mitsuki yanks his ear harder at that, steam practically pouring from her own ears, and Masaru holds a hand to his chin in deep, concerned thought.
“Just what happens at home when it’s just the two of you, huh? Why is she scared about what’ll happen when you’re home?!”
“Nothing! Literally fuckin’ nothing, she terrorizes me at home, if anything! Look with your eyes, you old hag!”
Finally taking mercy on him, you chuckle, reaching over to ruffle Katsuki’s hair. He gives you a nasty side glare, but it softens just a smidge when you lean into his side and kiss his cheek.
“I was only kidding,” you beam at Mitsuki, “I just wanted to make him sweat a bit.”
She looks at you with a cautious gaze, her fingers still tightly wrapped around Katsuki’s poor (and red) earlobe as she asks, “Are you sure you’re not just protecting him?”
“Oh don’t worry,” you hum, patting your boyfriend’s chest as he shakes his head in irritation, “you’d be the first to know if he acts even the slightest bit out of line.”
“I never get a chance to be out of line, cause you’re the bossiest—”
Just then, the waitress arrives with your drinks. She sets yours down first. “Here you go, honey.” Then she places Katsuki’s down. The sour look she gives him could practically curdle milk. “Sir.”
Katsuki stares after her as she walks off, and you giggle as you pinch his cheek affectionately. “We should come back here next week, huh baby?”
“Yeah, if my face isn’t on a wanted poster at the door,” he grumbles under his breath.
You reach over with a cheeky grin, grabbing his drink and taking a sip before taking another from your own glass. After a moment of contemplating, you hum, “I like your drink better. I’m taking it. Here—” you slide him yours as you pull his own glass to your side of the table. “You take that one.”
He turns to his mother and waves a hand. “See?! She terrorizes me!”
“I’m not seeing a problem,” she says, giving him a less than impressed look. “All I’m seeing is a poor girl finally realizing her worth after dealing with your nonsense.”
𑣲 katsuki apologizing while still inside ⋆｡° — SMUT! ♡♡
katsuki was positioned completely on top, gently pinning her hands above her head with his fingers intertwined with hers. he raised his head from her neck, locking his gaze deeply with hers.
"you still mad at me?" his usual explosive voice dropped into a quiet rasp. her breathing was uneven, chest heaving softly against his.
"a bit.." she whispered breathlessly. a flicker of genuine regret softened his expression—he leaned down, closing the distance between them until she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.
"didn't mean to, baby.." he truly meant it, looking down at her with raw vulnerability.
"had a long week. y'know how i can get sometimes, and m'sorry." hearing the genuine remorse in his tone made her remaining anger vanish, but the physical reality of their current position made it incredibly difficult to think straight, let alone talk.
"katsuki, do we have to talk about it now?" she emphasized, as his cock stayed deep and completely hard inside her.
his eyes were warm, even as a smirk tugged at his mouth—clearly amused by her breathy distraction. pressing his forehead against hers, he gave her pinned hands a gentle, tightening squeeze.
"yeah." he murmured against her lips, teasing her with a slow twitch of his hips. "we do. i can multitask."
he kissed her softly to catch her breath before drawing his hips back and driving right back in with a deep, unhurried stroke that made her back arch off the mattress.
a moan spilled from her lips as her fingers tried to curl into his, though he kept her hands firmly pinned against the pillow.
"fucking missed you." he groaned, setting a deep pace that maximized every bit of friction until she was trembling beneath him. "spent the whole week out of my mind because we left things messed up."
another deep, heavy push pulled a breathless whimper from her. katsuki caught the sound with his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth before pulling back just enough to look at her again. his eyes were dark and intense—entirely consumed by her.
"i get in my head." he went on, his hips moving forward in a steady rhythm as his words vibrated against her chest. "get pissed off at work, take it home.. shouldn't have shut you out. look at me, y/n."
she forced her eyes open, blinking through the haze of pleasure as he hit a spot that made her whine. "m'listening.." she whispered, her voice strained as she tried to handle the overwhelming depth of each slow stroke he delivered.
"yeah.." he muttered, his expression softening with possessive warmth as he continued to murmur between deep, perfect thrusts. "nowhere else i'd rather be. we're fixing this. right here."
SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ [6.2k] The heat in the villa reaches a breaking point as Day Three brings hidden betrayals to light. You and Rafe solidify your bond while the villa’s existing loyalties crumble around you.
WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mentions of parental neglect/abuse, mentions of grief/loss/death, mentions of past trauma, reference to substance use
˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗
THE MORNING LIGHT in the villa always felt a little too aggressive, draping itself over the scenery like it was personally offended you were still asleep. You felt a dull ache in your back from the hammock, but the memory of Rafe’s arms wrapped around you acted like a shot of espresso to your heart. You’d managed to sneak back into your bed next to JJ just before the sun peaked, but you weren’t exactly stealthy.
As you walked into the makeup room, the air was already thick with the scent of sunscreen, expensive perfume, and the rev of five different hair tools. The second you crossed the threshold, the room went quiet.
Sarah, who was carefully blending her bronzer, dropped her brush. A slow, mischievous smirk spreading across her face. "Well, well. Look who finally decided to join the land of the living.” She quipped, eyeing you through the makeup mirror. “...Or should I say... look who decided to finally come back to the bedroom?"
Confessional : Sarah
"You know, I know it's still very early..." Sarah started, smiling and blushing at the camera. "But I'm loving whatever her and Rafe have going on. I think I'd be okay if they end up winning this."
Cleo paused, a mascara wand hovering dangerously close to her eye as she smiled. "I was half-convinced you’d been kidnapped by production, but then I saw Rafe’s bed was half empty, too. Care to explain, bombshell?"
You felt the heat crawl up your neck, a traitorous blush staining your cheeks. You walked over to your station, trying to act nonchalant as you grabbed your moisturizer. "I…couldn't sleep.” You shrugged shyly. “The hovering tension in that room was enough to give me a migraine. I just went out for some air…"
"In the hammock? With Rafe?" Sarah egged on, wiggling her eyebrows. "Because I definitely saw you two looking like a literal Pinterest board for 'star-crossed lovers' when I looked out the window."
You bit your lip, unable to hide the small smile as you sat down. "We just talked, Sarah. He was stressed about the Ruthie situation, and I... I don't know, we just vibe.” You lied. “So…we ended up falling asleep out there."
The girls erupted into a chorus of ‘oohs’ and giggles, but you noticed Kiara wasn't joining in. She was staring at her reflection, looking absolutely drained. Her usual spark was replaced by a heavy, moping energy as she mindlessly brushed her hair.
"...Kie?" you murmured, stepping away from the group. She didn't look up, so you nudged her gently as you passed by. "Hey. Come talk to me for a second?" She snapped out of her stupor, nodding and following you out of the main room.
You led her toward the quiet corner near the closet, where the rows of clothing provided a bit of a privacy shield.
"You look like you're carrying the weight of the world, right now, girl," you said softly, a hand on her shoulder. "Is it still the Pope thing?" You asked, only being briefly filled in last night.
Kiara let out a long, shaky breath, finally meeting your eyes. "I just feel like a total bitch.” She admitted, fighting tears. “Pope told me he kissed me during the challenge, and then I had that talk with Cleo last night... it was so awkward. She was so hurt, and I feel like I've ruined a potential friendship over a guy I barely know.” She shook her head as if trying to erase the memory. “I hate that he lied to her, but I also hate that…I enjoyed the kiss. I’m just... I’m a mess."
Your hand ran down her arm, squeezing her hand. "Kie, stop. You didn't lie. Pope did. You were blindfolded!” You laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “You can't control who chooses to kiss you or how your body reacts to it. And Cleo is a big girl—she’s processing, but don't beat yourself up for something that wasn't your fault. This place is designed to test people. It’s testing him, and he's the one failing, not you."
Kiara gave you a small, grateful smile, wiping a stray tear. "You're right. I just... I hate the drama."
"Then leave the drama to Ruthie," you joked, making her laugh. "Come on. Let’s get our bikinis on." You kissed her cheek, squeezing her hand.
Confessional : You
"The girls are all so sweet, but the energy is definitely shifting. It’s only Day 3, and we’ve already got secret kisses, lying partners, and…late-night hammock sessions.” You stifled a laugh, hiding your face.
ONCE everyone was suited up in their tiniest bikinis, the girls migrated toward the daybeds while the boys scattered about the workout area. Most of them, anyway.
You were just settling in when a shadow fell over you. You looked up to see Rafe, looking effortlessly handsome in dark trunks, holding a plate of fruit and a toasted bagel.
"Morning, angel," he said, his voice that low, raspy growl that made your toes curl as he handed you the plate. "A token of my gratitude for keeping me company last night."
Sarah literally gasped, clutching her heart. "Making her breakfast on day three?” She fawned. “Stop the tape… Did you guys bone?” She eyed you both skeptically over her sunglasses. “You totally boned, didn't you?"
You nearly choked on a grape that you’d plucked from the plate. "Sarah!” You scolded. “No! We did not! It’s the third day, chill out..." You reprimanded, your face warm.
Rafe just smirked, a confident look in his eye as he glanced at Sarah who continued staring. "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, Sarah. But for the record, your imagination is way more active than our night was." He looked back at you, his thumb grazing your wrist as he let go of the plate. "Enjoy, angel."
As he walked away, Cleo, who had been oddly quiet since the morning started, finally spoke up.
"Oh, he’s got it bad for you," she noted, her voice steady but lacking its usual punch. You just laughed, throwing a strawberry slice into your mouth as your eyes stayed glued to the girl.
"Cleo, you okay?" you asked, leaning forward, swallowing. "We haven't really talked since..."
Cleo sighed, adjusting her sunglasses. "I don’t know, girl.” She sighed. “I’m not mad at Kie. I told her that. But Pope? I don’t have any other choice but to keep my guard up.” She explained. “He’s been trying to apologize all morning, but it’s hard to trust someone who can look you in the eye and lie about who he's thinking about. So, me and him? We’re on okay terms, I guess." She then looked at Kiara who'd been sitting silently and offered a small, genuine smile. "But we're good, Kie. Seriously."
The two girls shared smiles and gave each other a quick, firm hug, breaking the tension.
THE AFTERNOON was a blur of games that were mostly just excuses for the islanders to get sweaty and flirtatious. Between games of pool-side trivia and sun-tanning, JJ eventually made his move. He sauntered over while you were grabbing a drink, flashing that signature Florida boy grin.
"You know," JJ started, leaning against the outdoor kitchen counter. "I’m a big believer in exploring all my options. I know you and the buzzcut are 'a thing,' but I can't help that you're easily the hottest girl in this villa.” You rolled your eyes at his words. “I think we’d have a lot more fun than you and Mr. Serious over there."
You laughed, leaning back against the fridge as you cracked open a can of soda. "I can't tell if you're joking or dead serious." You chuckled. "JJ, you are a menace. Are you ever not hitting on someone?"
"Hey, I'm a bombshell. It’s in the job description. Did you not read yours?" he teased. "But for real. You're gorgeous, man. Just…keep me in mind if he gets too moody for you." He threw a thumb over his shoulder to where Rafe was.
"I…appreciate the offer, JJ," you said, patting his arm politely as you moved to exit the kitchen. "But I think I'm exactly where I want to be.” You scoffed, turning to face him as you walked backwards. “But y’know what? Go find Cleo, I think she could use a laugh."
He took the rejection with a wink and a shrug, wandering off to find his next target.
“He got you, too?” A voice met your eyes as you passed the pool, looking down to find John B kicking his feet in the water. “He’s been hitting on everyone, and I mean everyone, all damn day.” He laughed.
You slowed your pace, deciding that a little more mingling couldn't hurt—especially since Rafe was currently occupied with a workout and the girls were all relaxing. You dropped onto the edge of the pool next to him, letting your feet sink into the cool, chlorinated water.
“He’s definitely persistent,” you agreed, watching JJ's retreating back as you sipped on your drink. “But I think he’s harmless. Just a lot of energy.” You shrugged. “How are you holding up, John B? You’ve been kind of the 'calm in the storm' lately.”
John B ran a hand through his messy, sun-bleached hair, a self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “I’m trying to be. Honestly, I’m just taking it all in. Back home in the Outer Banks, things are… slower. I spend most of my time at the history museum my dad and I own. It’s a lot of old maps, dusty artifacts, and trying to make ends meet.” He reminisced. “So, this is definitely a change of pace.”
You tilted your head, interested. “A history museum? That’s actually really cool. I didn't peg you for a history buff.”
“It’s the family legacy,” he said, though a shadow crossed his face. “To be honest, that’s kind of why my last relationship went south. I was so focused on the museum, on the money, on the success of it all… I wasn't really there for her, y’know?” He looked at you. “I was in the room, but my brain was always somewhere else, counting coins and worrying about the mortgage. I came here because I realized I don't want to be that guy anymore. Not like my old man. I want to actually… connect. You know?”
You nodded, understanding. It was clear that John B was a provider type, but one who had let the stress of survival drown out his capacity for intimacy. “It’s hard to balance the real world with romance. Especially when you feel like the weight of a legacy is on your shoulders.”
“Exactly,” he sighed, looking at you with genuine appreciation. “You get it. Kie’s great, don't get me wrong, but I feel like I’m still learning how to be a partner. Plus, I don’t think either of us see each other that way, to be fair.” He admitted with a light laugh. “I’m a work in progress.”
Confessional : John B
“She's really easy to talk to. She doesn't just hear you, she listens. It’s a little intimidating, actually.” He pondered. “...Damn, Rafe is a lucky guy.”
After chatting with John B for a bit longer, you headed toward the outdoor gym area to grab a towel, but you stopped when you saw Pope sitting on a lounge chair, staring intensely at a notebook.
“...Planning a bank heist?” you joked, leaning against the squat rack.
Pope jumped slightly, looking up with wide eyes before relaxing. “Oh, hey.” He came back to reality. “Neither. Just… well, I just graduated with a dual degree in Computer Science and Mathematics. My brain doesn't really know how to shut off, I guess. If I was back home in Maryland, I'd be helping my dad run our seafood shop to kill time, but since I've been here, I find myself doing equations while I’m here just to.. stay sharp.”
“Maryland, huh? I can definitely see that.” You added. “What made you wanna do this?”
His smile faltered slightly as he looked toward the pool where Cleo and Kiara were talking, guilt clouding his face. “I just… I’ve always felt like the second option. In school, in my career, and definitely in my love life.” Pope admitted. “I’m the guy people call when they need their computer fixed or their taxes done, but I’m rarely the guy they call just because they want to see me.” He told you, sighing. “I came here hoping I could finally be someone’s first choice. Guess I screwed that up…”
Your heart twinged for him. “Pope, you’re brilliant and you’re kind.” You smiled at him. “The right person isn't going to see you as an option, they’re going to see you as the prize. Don't let all of this reality TV chaos make you feel like you're less-than just because you aren't doing backflips into the pool and didn’t have your mind made up on day one.” You reassured him. “I’m sure genuine apologies and some time will fix whatever you think is broken.”
“Thanks,” he whispered, looking a bit more confident as he gave you a small smile. “I needed that. Especially today.”
Confessional : Pope
“Y/N is a like a blessing. She’s got a really confident, almost intimidating, energy, but she’s also so grounded. Talking to her makes me feel like I’m not a complete screw-up. It’s nice…”
Finally, you crossed paths with Topper near the fire pit. He was dressed in a crisp, polo shirt that looked a little too formal for the 80-degree weather.
“Tense morning, huh?” you said, stopping to adjust your bikini top.
Topper nodded, his expression stiff. “You could say that. I’m used to a bit more… decorum. I work in the legal system back in New York with my grandpa. Everything is about rules, reputation, and standing.”
“Rules, huh?” you asked, a playful but sharp edge to your voice. “You don’t strike me as the type.”
Topper’s posture went from stiff to defensive in an instant. “They already told you? Shit, man.” Topper stressed. “Look, it was a one night stand. I tried everything to get my ex to understand that but she broke up with me anyway. I’m a changed man, or a changing man, I promise—”
“Topper, what the hell are you talking about?” You interrupted, putting a hand out.
“...You weren’t talking about me cheating on my ex?”
“...No.” You deadpanned. “No, I wasn’t.”
“Oh,” he tensed. “Shit.”
‘“Right…” You gave him a curt nod before moving on. He was a tough nut to crack, and your gut was telling you that his "perfect" exterior was holding back a lot of buried secrets.
By the time you finished your rounds, you felt like you had a much better handle on the guys in the villa. They were all just as messy, hopeful, and complicated as the girls. But as your eyes drifted back to the patio where Rafe was finally finishing his workout, you knew that none of them could hold a candle to the boy waiting for you upstairs.
EVENTUALLY, you found Rafe up on the patio, away from the chatter and the music. He was staring out at the horizon, looking thoughtful, sweating lightly from his workout. You joined him, leaning against the railing.
"You look tense," you noticed. “What’cha thinkin’ about, big guy?”
"Thinkin’ about you, actually," he admitted, turning to face you with a breathy smirk. "I saw you down there getting to know everyone. Forgot you missed all of the introductions.” He observed. “The, uh, psych thing—is that what you want to do? Listen to people's problems for a living? I could see the gears turning in your head from all the way up here."
You cringed, shaking your head. "God, no. I’m studying Forensic psychology, actually. I want to get into the heads of the people that most people are afraid of.” You explained, taking a seat next to him. “Criminal profiling, court evaluations... that kind of stuff."
Rafe’s eyebrows shot up. "No kidding? That’s intense.” He scooted closer. “So, you’re basically a human lie detector?"
"Something like that," you challenged, shrugging. "Want to test your theory? You try to lie to me, and I’ll tell you exactly how I know you're doing it."
He looked intrigued, his eyes darkening with a mix of amusement and something else—admiration. "Alright. Lay it on me."
And for the next twenty minutes, you put him through the wringer. You pointed out the way his jaw tightened when he lied about his favorite color, the way his pupils dilated when he talked about how much he liked the villa, and the subtle shift in his posture when he was being genuine.
"You're terrifying," Rafe laughed, shaking his head. "It’s scary how well you can read me. But it’s also... kind of hot." He paused, his expression turning a bit more serious. "Is that the only work you’ve ever done? Just school and psych stuff?"
You went quiet suddenly, shoulders stiffening. The lightheartedness of the moment vanished, replaced by a cold, familiar stone in your gut. You looked away, picking at a loose thread on your bikini bottoms. "Um, no. I…I've worked a lot of jobs."
Rafe, however, noticed the shift instantly. "Hey. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."
"It’s fine," you said quickly, forcing a smile that didn't reach your eyes. "Let’s talk about something else." You sucked in a deep breath. "Like why you really left the room last night. Was it Ruthie or were you secretly hoping I would follow you?"
Rafe took the hint and let the subject drop, though his eyes lingered on you with a new sense of curiosity. "It was definitely a mix of both." He smirked, feeding into you. "I haven't slept that well in... well, ever. You're a good pillow."
You laughed, the tension easing. “Since, I know you saw me chatting with some of the guys, it's your turn,” you started, shifting. “So, tell me more about you. What’s the 'Rafe Cameron' story? Family, work, the whole deal?"
Rafe’s face tightened as he thought of his family—his dad. "I mean, you know about my job and stuff. But there’s not a lot about my family. I have two sisters, and my parents…well, uh…they…” He looked like he’d hit a road block, like he was malfunctioning before your eyes, like he was about to shut down.
Noticing this, you quickly changed gears.
“Hey,” you put a hand on his thigh. “It’s okay. Another time.” You reassured, standing up. “But I’m feeling a little racey…” You stretched, a smirk on your face. "Race you to the pool!" you shouted, pecking his cheek and not giving him time to sink into the mood before you sprinted down the stairs, hearing his heavy footsteps behind you.
You ran across the lawn and canonballed into the pool, hitting the water with a massive splash, surfacing just in time to see him dive in right next to you. In the center of the pool, hidden from the main group by the rock feature, he grabbed your waist, dragging you over to him.
"You're fast," he panted, licking his lips.
"And you're slow," you teased, a taunting smile on your face as your arms went around neck, swaying in the water.
"...Y'know, I've never felt like this," he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. "It’s been three days, and I feel more free with you than I do with people I’ve known for years."
"...Trust me," you whispered back, the water swirling around you both. “I know the feeling.”
Confessional : Rafe
"She’s smart. Like, scary smart. It’s intimidating as hell, but I can't stay away from her.” He trailed off, staring out at nothing as a soft smiled graced his features. “I think I’m in trouble."
THAT EVENING, Kiara made dinner for the entire villa—a recipe from her parents’ restaurant, she’d told you as you hovered while she cooked.
She told you a lot more about herself as she threw ingredients around—she told you all about her non-profit environmentalist group and her animal rescue, even opened up about her coming on Love Island because she never had a serious relationship before, with a guy or a girl. The conversation drifted away when the kitchen started to fill.
The smell of garlic, spices, and fresh seafood filled the air, momentarily bringing everyone together. But the peace was short-lived.
After dinner, you were sitting on the edge of the fire pit when you overheard Pope pull Cleo aside near the outdoor kitchen. Despite wanting to give them privacy, you couldn't help but listen.
Hell, you were all on national TV anyway.
"Cleo, please," Pope was saying, his voice thick with frustration. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just didn't want to make things weird because I still like you—"
"It’s already weird, Pope!" Cleo snapped, her voice cracking. "I get that this is a game. I get that we’re supposed to explore. But you lied to my face.” Her voice cracked. “You let me think we were getting somewhere while you were dreaming about kissing Kie. It makes me feel stupid.” She spat. “So, do me a favor... don't choose me at the next recoupling.” She ordered, clearly hurt if her voice was anything to go by. “It’s clear where your heart is…"
You heard as she turned and walked away, her head held high until she passed the cameras and hit the shadows of the garden. You followed after silently, watching her shoulders shake.
You found her by the daybeds, wiping her eyes furiously. She jumped as you sat down next to her before relaxing. "...Of course you heard." She sighed. "I just feel so stupid," she sobbed. "It’s been three days. Why am I crying over some guy I just met? I’ve been through worse. I mean, the first guy I thought I was in love with played me and robbed me, so why does this hurt so much?"
"Because it’s like re-opening an old wound?” you offered. “And because you're human, Cleo," you said, pulling her into a side-hug. "And because you actually gave him a chance. He’s the one who lost out, not you."
Cleo sniffed, wiping her eyes. “Thanks…”
You stayed with her until her breathing leveled out, a silent bond forming between the two of you.
THAT NIGHT, you and Rafe didn't even bother with the bedroom. Once the lights went low and the snores started, you met him by the large outdoor daybeds.
"Ready for Round Two?" he whispered, holding open a thick blanket.
You climbed in next to him, the cool night air replaced by his heat. You were just settling in, whispering about nothing, when you heard hushed voices from above.
You both looked up toward the rooftop terrace and froze.
There, in the moonlight, were Ruthie and Topper. They were talking in low, frantic tones, but you managed to hear a small snippet of their conversation...
“You’re seriously still trying to deny it?” Ruthie whispered, a playful but sharp edge to her voice. “Topper, the chemistry during that kiss and tell challenge was loud enough for the whole island to hear.”
Topper stepped closer, a nervous glance darting toward the shadows before his eyes locked back onto hers. “I’m not denying anything. I just didn't think you’d call me out on it tonight. We were supposed to be playing it cool, since, you know...”
“Since when do you 'play it cool'?” Ruthie scoffed softly, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. “Besides, you didn’t seem to care about 'being cool' when you kissed me. Admit it, it wasn’t just for the game.”
A slow smirk broke across Topper’s face, his voice dropping an octave as he closed the remaining distance between them. “...Fine. It wasn’t. You’re a dangerous distraction, Ruthie...”
“Good. Because honestly? You’ve spent way too much time losing your mind over a certain golden girl who doesn't care about you like I do.”
Topper’s expression softened, the guard completely dropping as he reached out, his fingers brushing gently against her arm. “She’s the last thing on my mind right now. Especially with you standing here...”
And then—right in front of God and the cameras—they leaned in for a long, passionate kiss.
Your blood turned to ice. "...Are you kidding me?" you hissed under your breath, gaze whipping between Rafe and the couple on the terrace. "Ruthie has been riding my ass for forty-eight hours about 'stealing' you, and she’s up there with Sarah’s guy in the middle of the night talking shit—"
Rafe’s hand went to your shoulder, his grip firm as he saw you moving to get off of the daybed. "Hey. Let them dig their own grave." He coaxed. "We saw it. That’s all that matters."
You huffed, backing down. "I officially hate them," you muttered, leaning back into his chest. "And Topper has been acting like he's obsessed with Sarah."
"People are snakes," Rafe murmured, pulling you closer. "But we aren't. It'll blow up on them eventually.” He squeezed you tighter. “...Who are you, um, picking at the recoupling, anyway? You know, whenever it comes around..." He tried to feign nonchalantness.
You fixed him with a tight-lipped deadpan expression."Is that even a question?" you whispered, turning to face him. "I'm picking the guy who makes me breakfast and races me to the pool.” You told him simply, snuggling closer to him, heart pounding as you asked the same question. “...What about you? If the guys pick... are you picking the bombshell or sticking with the girl on the roof?"
"That's not even a serious question." He rolled his eyes. "I'm picking the only girl in this villa who actually sees me," he said, kissing your forehead.
And you fell asleep in his arms, the anger fading into exhaustion.
THE CONFRONTATION didn't happen at the fire pit.
It happened at 7:00 AM.
You woke up to a shadow looming over the daybed. You squinted against the early morning sun to see Ruthie standing there, her face contorted with a fake, concerned expression that didn't hide the malice in her eyes.
"Unbelievable," Ruthie sneered, loud enough to wake the dead. "I knew you were a sneak, but sleeping out here like a common tramp?” She hissed as the other islanders gathered around, following behind Ruthie as you were sure she made a scene before leaving the bedroom. “And Rafe, I thought you had more class than this. You’re literally sneaking around behind my back—"
"Sneaking around?" Rafe’s voice boomed, echoing through the villa. He didn't just wake up at Ruthie’s loud words, he practically exploded. He sat up, his eyes flashing with a cold fury you hadn't seen yet as his arms remained around you."You want to talk about sneaking around, Ruthie?” Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “Because last time I checked, I wasn't on the roof in the middle of the night sucking face with Topper!"
The silence that followed was deafening. The other islanders, still in their pajamas, looked confused and shocked.
"...What did you just say?" Sarah asked, her voice small, looking from Rafe to Ruthie.
Rafe sighed, running a hand down his face. "...I’m sorry, Sarah," Rafe retorted, standing up and pointing a finger at Ruthie as you sat up straighter in the daybed, rubbing sleep from your eyes. "But she’s been harassing her for 'stealing' me while she’s been sneaking off with Topper. Probably since night one, and night two, and definitely last night on the roof. I saw it. I saw them. We both did." Rafe exposed, throwing a hand out in your direction.
Ruthie’s face went through five different shades of red. "H-He’s lying!” She tried, looking around at everyone “He’s just trying to cover his own ass for being a liar since day one!"
"...I think I saw them too," John B muttered from the back of the group, looking uncomfortable. "I didn't say anything because I wasn't sure, but I saw them leave the room late on night two."
Sarah turned to Topper, who was looking at his feet. "Topper? Is it true?"
Topper didn't answer. He just turned and walked away, and Sarah let out a scoff that morphed into broken sobs, chasing after him toward the back of the villa.
"You're a piece of work, Ruthie," you said tiredly, standing up next to Rafe.
THE GROUP dispersed in a cloud of tension. The girls, minus Sarah who was still locked in a room with Topper, gathered in the makeup room, the energy frantic.
"I can't believe them," Kie whispered, shaking her head. "Sarah is devastated..."
“Believe me, I was beyond pissed last night,” You gritted your teeth, moving things around. “They’re both assholes.” You looked at Cleo and Kie, face softening. "But how are you guys holding up? After everything with Pope…"
"I’m okay," Cleo said, though she looked tired. "At least I know where I stand now. But, I mean, Sarah... she thought they were real. He was all over her. I can’t believe he was sneaking around. And with Ruthie of all people…"
“Especially since Ruthie was trying to jump down your throat every chance she got…” Kie added.
You spent the next hour getting ready, but your mind wasn’t only on your friends—it was on Rafe. You headed to the kitchen and decided to return the favor from yesterday.
You made him a massive plate of eggs, bacon, and toast, bringing it to him where he was sitting alone at the breakfast bar.
"A token of my gratitude," you said, sliding the plate over, putting your hands on his shoulders and kissing his cheek.
He giggled, kissing your cheek back before taking a bite, closing his eyes. He paused mid-chew, shoulders slumping as he groaned. "This?” He pointed at his plate with his fork as you poured a glass of juice for yourself. “Is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Seriously. You’re a lifesaver."
“Why, thank you, Mr. Cameron.” You courtesied, smiling as you sipped on your glass of juice.
While he ate and you both talked, you spotted Sarah sitting alone on a lounge chair near the pool, her head in her hands. You curtly excused yourself from Rafe and walked over, sitting quietly beside her.
"Sarah, I don’t even know what to say…” you started. “He's a liar," you said softly. "You deserve so much more than a guy who uses you as a placeholder while he sneaks around."
However, Topper chose that exact moment to race over, looking like he wanted to apologize.
But you didn't give him the chance.
"Don't," you said, standing up to block him as Sarah shifted away from him. "Seriously, Topper? You're a piece of shit. You lied to her face for four days while you were chasing Ruthie.”
“I know, I just—” He breathed, panting like he’d been running all around looking for her.
“Go. Before I forget there are cameras watching."
Topper looked stunned, then scuttled away like a kicked dog, not without another guilty glance over his shoulder. You were turning around when Sarah lunged forward, hugging you tightly and sobbing into your shoulder.
"Thank you," she whispered. You stood shocked for a moment before relaxing and hugging her back, rubbing a hand over her back. When she pulled away, you helped wipe the tears from her eyes.
"Maybe you should talk to Cleo," you told her, still wiping her eyes. "She’s in the same boat. Maybe you guys can be help each other."
Sarah nodded and gave you one last hug before going to find Cleo as you returned to Rafe who’d been watching the whole time, admiring you from afar.
LATER that afternoon, the dreaded ping of a text echoed through the villa. It was you and JJ, again.
"Text!” You both called aloud.
"Hit me," Rafe said, beckoning you both to read the text as everyone gather.
“JJ and Y/N, it’s time to see if your bombshell status pays off. You each get to pick one Islander for a proper date outside the villa! #BeachVibes #DoubleDate"
You didn't hesitate, smiling as you bounced on your feet. "Rafe."
JJ looked around and smirked. "I’m taking…Kiara."
Pope, sitting nearby, looked like he’d been punched in the gut, but he stayed silent.
Damn. Two for two.
Back in the dressing room, the girls were hype for you.
"Go enjoy yourself," Sarah said, managing a weak smile. "Your guy is the only one not fucking up right now."
Kiara squeezed your arm as you looked each other over, both adorned in beautiful flowy dresses. "I’m just excited to get away from the villa energy and try to have a good time with JJ. He’s actually kind of funny when he’s not being a dog."
THE DATE was on a secluded beach, with a long table set up under a canopy as the sun began to set.
JJ and Kiara seemed to be hitting it off on the other end of the table, their laughter drifting over the sound of the waves. There was something in JJ’s eyes you hadn’t seen with yourself or any of the other girls. Sometimes, you’d get a snippet of their conversation as the wind carried it and he was actually talking about something other than boobs, butts, and sex.
But you and Rafe were in your own world.
"I…felt bad for shutting down earlier," Rafe said, picking at his dinner. "About my family. My relationship with my dad... it’s not just 'not great.' It’s toxic." He admitted, wiping his mouth with his napkin. "He’s a powerful man, and he uses that power to crush anything he can't control. Including me." He paused, his voice cracking slightly. "And my mom, she passed when I was ten. She was the only one who kept him in check. Since then... it’s been hell."
You could tell it was a very sore subject for him, from the shake in his voice to the trembling of his hands.
You reached across the table, taking his hand in yours. "I get it, Rafe. More than you know…"
He looked up, surprised yet concerned. "You mean that?"
You nodded, taking a deep breath. "My parents... they were very verbally abusive. Everything was about control. If I wasn't perfect, I was nothing.” You told him, avoiding his eyes as unwanted memories flooded your mind. “I ran away when I was sixteen. I just... I couldn't breathe in that house anymore." You felt the familiar sting in your eyes. "They didn't even put out a missing persons report. And I haven't spoken to them in years. They don't even know I’m here."
Rafe squeezed your hand, his grip grounding you. "How did you live? At sixteen? How did you get this far?"
You took a deep breath, the secret you’d been guarding finally pushing its way out. "...When you asked if I’d worked anywhere else... that’s, um, why I got quiet." You choked out. "I did a lot of what I had to do to survive.” You told him, swallowing harshly. “...I worked as a bottle girl in some pretty shady clubs. I... I even stripped for a while."
The silence was heavy. You waited for the judgment, for the look of disgust.
"It wasn't the job I was ashamed of, necessarily," you whispered, your voice trembling. "It was the things I did to feel numb while I was doing it. The people I let into my life because I thought I didn't deserve better." You felt a sob rise in your throat, pulling your hands back and hiding them under the table as Rafe remained silent and tears welled in your eyes, your throat growing tight. "I don't want to talk about this anymore." You rushed out in one faint breath.
"Hey, it's alright," Rafe said, standing up, rounding the table, and pulling you out of your chair. You looked up at him as you took his outstretched hand. He didn't say a word. He just led you down toward the shore, the cool water lapping at your feet. You walked in silence for a long time, the only sound was the crashing of the waves.
"...I'd never judge you, by the way," Rafe finally spoke, looking down at you as you walked.
When you finally felt calm enough to speak, you looked up at him. "Thank you. For not... for not making a scene. I've never told anyone that.” You admitted, voice still hoarse. “And…I hope it doesn't make you look at me differently."
Rafe stopped, turning you to face him. The rising moonlight hit the sharp angles of his face. "Look at me.” He ordered, a hand under your chin. “My past is full of demons I wish I could forget, too. I’ve done things I’m not proud of just to survive my father’s shadow. I’m not judging you. If anything... I admire you more for being here, standing on your own two feet after everything....No one's perfect. But I like you just the way you are." He smirked down at you, squeezing your hand.
You smiled tearfully as he leaned in, his hand cupping your jaw. "You're officially the strongest person I've ever met."
And then, he kissed you. Truly kissed you. It was deep, desperate, and full of a shared understanding that felt like a lifetime of connection packed into a few seconds.
WHEN you returned to the villa, the islanders welcomed you back with curious eyes.
In the makeup room, Kiara was beaming.
"The date was actually great," Kie admitted to Cleo, Sarah, and you. "JJ has this really soft heart under that whole 'playboy' exterior. He told me about his home life and how he just wants to be seen for more than his looks.” She explained, tucking a curl behind her ear. “I think I could really like him."
Cleo smiled. "I’m happy for you, Kie. JJ must really like you, because my date with him on Day One was... let’s just say it was a lot different." She chuckled.
You leaned against the counter, a dazed smile on your face. "I learned a lot more about Rafe today. I think... I could really see us being something real. Like, 'outside of the villa' real."
The girls squealed, pulling you into a group hug and jumping up and down like a bunch of school girls.
AS you prepared for bed, the girls started teasing you as you headed toward the door.
"Going to your man on the daybeds?" Sarah joked.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Cleo shouted.
You laughed, heading out to find Rafe already waiting for you. You climbed into the daybed, immediately curling into his side. It was quiet and there were a billion stars in the sky and you had one thought on your mind as you felt the warmth of Rafe next to you—I could get used to this.
"...We were meant to know each other, weren't we?" you whispered, tracing the tattoos on his arm. You’d ask about them one day. But you figured why rush when it felt like you had all the time in the world with this amazing guy?
"I think so, angel," he murmured, kissing your forehead.
"Why do you call me that?" you asked, looking up at him as he admired the way the moon reflected in your eyes. "...’Angel’?"
Rafe looked at you, his gaze intense and full of a soft, rare vulnerability. "Because that’s all you’ve been since the second I laid eyes on you.” He said softly, tracing your face with the tip of his fingers. “You’re the only good thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time."
At his words, you smiled and pulled the blanket up over both of you, falling asleep to the sound of his heart beating against your ear, knowing that this night was the night everything changed.
SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ [6k] After making a splash in the "Kiss and Tell" challenge, you find yourself drawn to the magnetic but "taken" Rafe Cameron.
WARNING(S)‧₊˚ ruthie's a mean girl, deception, swearing, suggestive content, emotional stress, not proofread ywt
˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗
“IT’S OUR COUPLES FIRST NIGHT IN THE VILLA. As our four couples sit shaking in their seats, our lovely Ariana is waiting to give them their first challenge.”
The air hummed with anticipation, the neon glow of the Love Island villa casting long shadows across the manicured lawn. It was the first night, and already, the drama was brewing. After the initial coupling, four pairs stood awkwardly — Cleo and Pope, Sarah and Topper, John B and Kiara, Rafe and Ruthie.
The host, none other than Ariana Madix, clapped her hands, drawing everyone's attention. "Alright, Islanders. It’s time for our very first challenge — 'Kiss and Tell'... or maybe just 'Kiss' for now…" Nervous giggles rippled through the group, the islanders sharing weary smiles and awkward glances. "Here's how it works: you'll each be blindfolded. Then, you'll be given the chance to kiss someone you might have a little bit of interest in…outside of your couple. No talking, just kissing. And please, try to be quiet." Ariana smiled mischievously. “With that, Islanders, please place your blindfolds over your eyes.”
A heavy tension hung in the air as the couples silently placed the thick, black blindfolds over their eyes. With one of their senses taken, Ariana continued. “If you’d like to kiss someone outside of your current couple, please, raise your hand.”
With slow, steady, and somewhat unsure movements — a few islanders took a leap and raised their hands. First it was Ruthie, then Topper, then Pope, then John B. The hosts’ eyes widened, turning to the camera and mouthing a ‘wow’.
“Islanders,” Ariana started once she made a mental note of who held their hand up. “When I tap your shoulder, you may silently get up and kiss the islander, or islanders, of your choice.” And with a wink towards the camera, Ariana stepped down from the platform and quietly started rounding the circle of couples, tapping Ruthie on the shoulder first.
A wide grin plastered on her face as she slid the blindfold from over her eyes. Quietly sliding off of her seat next to Rafe, she moved with surprising confidence. She wasted no time in planting quick, decisive kisses on all the boys. She started with Pope, attempting to deepen it, but he didn’t seem quite interested. Then she moved onto John B, the kiss not lasting long. She made her last move on Topper, a kiss that lasted a bit too long for comfort…and definitely was heard by the others.
Confessional : Sarah
“I’m not saying Topper got kissed…” She started, hands in the air. “All I’m saying is that I heard lips locking a little too close to my ear.”
Confessional : Ruthie
Producer: Do you feel bad about kissing all of the guys?
“Do I feel bad?” She asked almost unbelievably. “Why would I? This is Love Island. I’m just playing the game. Plus, maybe if I make Rafe a little jealous, he’ll actually show some interest in me…” She rolled her eyes.
Once Ruthie was sat and blindfolded, Pope was the next to receive a soft tap on his shoulder.
Slowly removing his blindfold and getting out of his seat, the boy found his way straight to Kiara. With a gentle finger under her chin, Pope placed a soft, sweet kiss on her lips.
Confessional : Pope
“I felt kind of bad stepping outside of my coupling with Cleo, but I feel this, like, pull towards Kiara and it just felt like an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.”
With Pope back in his seat, it was Topper’s turn. Ariana’s jaw dropped when he practically made a b-line for Ruthie, shoving his tongue down her throat.
Confessional : Topper
“I kind of had a feeling it was Ruthie that kissed me but after kissing her, I know it was her. For sure.” He smiled, leaning back. “Glad to know the feeling’s mutual.”
And lastly, after Topper had his fun, it was John B’s time to shine. He took a deep breath before he found Sarah, a brief but undeniable spark in their exchange—him taking her face in both of his hands and placing a passionate kiss on her lips.
Confessional : John B
“Sarah and I kept locking eyes during the coupling, so I was kinda bummed when she went with Topper…” John B shrugged. “But your boy never gives up, so of course I had to show her what she was missing. Even if she doesn’t know it was me...yet.” He winked.
With John B back in his seat, Ariana returned to the middle. But instead of instructing the islanders to remove their blindfolds, she glances over her shoulder, waving two people over.
“Uh-oh. It looks like our couples are about to get their first real taste of Love Island — please welcome our first bombshells, Y/N and JJ.”
The villa was silent as you entered the villa alongside JJ, small smirks on your faces as you anticipated the drama you were about to stir. It was exciting and nerve-wracking all at the same time.
Confessional : You
“Hi!" You beamed. "I’m Y/N, I’m twenty-two and I’m from Vegas. I just recently graduated with a Psych degree but I definitely gained some other…useful skills throughout my multiple careers." You laughed. "I’m here to take another chance on love and find my person. I know that coming in as a bombshell, it’s kind of my role to step on toes, but that’s really not my intention, and I hope I can get on with the girls before I have to steal one of their guys…”
Confessional : JJ
“I’m JJ, I’m twenty-two and I’m from Florida. I work as a surf instructor and I came here to work on my…non-commitalism? I think that’s what they called it… I don’t know, but girls apparently hate it." He shrugged, the producers laughing in the background. "I’ve been called a “red flag” too many times for my liking, so, here I am.”
As you and JJ come to stand beside the host, your eyes wander over the blindfolded, unexpecting couples. They were all attractive, even with parts of their features covered, and you could tell this would be a hard decision.
Silently, Ariana motioned for JJ to step forward and kiss the girls first. And the blonde could not be more excited.
Looks like JJ is wasting no time in taking his chances. This man’s got no fear as he approaches our first blindfolded girl.
Confessional : You
“Y’know, I’m kind of glad that I came in with JJ because, I can’t lie, he’s an attractive guy, and had I not? I might’ve gone for him. But after getting to talk to him, he’s very…different.” You laughed, a hand covering your mouth. “Like, it’s not a bad thing but…" Your voice dropped to a whisper as if anyone could hear you. "...he kept looking at my boobs in the car.”
The nearest couple to the three unblindfolded happened to be Cleo and Pope, and JJ didn’t hesitate in making an impression — a hand gently slid up the length of Cleo’s neck, guiding her to tilt her head up as JJ pressed his lips against hers.
Moving onto the next, Topper sat still, none the wiser to an all too happy JJ slowly approaching Sarah. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, he dipped down and placed a sensual kiss to her lips.
Then it was Kiara, both of his hands cradling the girl’s round cheeks as sloppily kissed her right next to her partner.
Lastly, he ended his show with a brief but still steamy kiss with Ruthie, who surprisingly (or not), gripped his arms as he locked lips.
As JJ made his way back to the platform, licking his lips — you and the host couldn’t do anything but shake your heads. Once JJ was planted in his spot, Ariana nodded her head in your direction as a silent signal for you to follow JJ’s lead, only this time…on all the boys.
With a deep breath, you quietly stepped down from the heart shaped platform, careful not to make noise with the heels on your feet.
The first guy you approached, Pope, caught your eye immediately — dark skin, coily hair, and muscles that clearly took some hard work and time. He was hard to miss, and you were glad you didn’t. Standing in between his legs, one of your hands slithered behind his neck, the boy visibly shivering under your touch before you dipped down and connected your lips with his. Pope involuntarily made a small sound of surprise before relaxing into the exchange, just seconds before you decided to pull away and approach the next guy.
This one was blonde and much lankier, his shoulders much too square for your taste. Even with the blindfold, you could tell he wasn’t quite your speed. But Kiss and Tell was the name of the game, and unlike the others, you weren’t given much of a choice in the matter. Bending down, you placed a kiss to his lips, not as engaged as before as you pulled away, gently swiping his chin before moving on.
The next guy was definitely something — John B had a nice tan, visible freckles and sun spots, and this fluffy, brown hair that definitely gave him some points. Your fingers trailed up his arms, feeling that slight hairs on them as you ran them all up until they could thread into his mess of loose curls, pulling at them slightly to tilt his head back as you slid your lips against his. As you pulled away, you could see that he was visibly breathless, the sight almost making you chuckle.
But you held it in and choked it down as your eyes landed on your fourth and final victim of the night. The smile was almost immediately wiped from your face when you got a good look at the guy you’d be kissing — a buzzcut, well-defined muscles that had maps of veins that you could spend hours tracing with your fingers, and this somewhat ever-present smirk on his face that didn’t seem to fade.
Rafe wasn’t just your type. He was straight up something out of a dream.
And you didn’t even get to see his eyes, yet.
And you couldn’t stop yourself as you quietly walked in his direction, stopping right in front of him. It was almost like the man could sense your presence as his head slightly angled itself upwards, almost like he could see you through the obstruction. The movement made your heart race but you didn’t allow it to throw you off your game.
Your hands started at his knees, slowly moving up as they caressed his thighs. Rafe was unwavering, deathly still, but his clenching jaw was a dead giveaway — and your sign that you must’ve been doing something right. As one hand remained planted on his thigh, the other slowly traveled up his chest, to his neck, all the way up until you could hold his face in your hand, slightly pulling it closer in order to carefully connect his lips with your own. Out of all the kisses you’d given out tonight, this one was the only one to make your head spin. Your knees nearly buckled when Rafe seemed to lose himself, groaning into the kiss.
You smiled against his lips as you slowly pulled away, the hand on his jaw coming up to wipe the gloss from his lips — leaving the boy stunned, his jaw still slack as you walked away.
Confessional : Rafe
Producer: Rafe, how do you feel about the last kiss you received?
“...I don’t know what the fuck that was.” Rafe stared blankly into the camera, a smile forming on his lips that he tried to fight. “But I liked it. A lot.”
With both you and JJ back on the podium, Ariana stood with her hands in front of her before speaking to the islanders themselves. “Alright,” She started, smiling. “You may now remove your blindfolds.”
You watched, nearly tap dancing on your feet, as the couples in front of you slowly removed the masks from their eyes. They looked at each other first…then at you and JJ. You both remained still as the islanders turned to you both one by one, sharing looks of surprise.
“Islanders, while some of you did choose to kiss someone, or a few people, outside of your coupling,” The host started, looking around with pointed glances. “Those last kisses were courtesy of our first official bombshells — JJ and Y/N.”
As the couples shifted in their seats, some looking nervous or shameful, you couldn’t help but let your gaze drift to the last boy you kissed.
Rafe’s eyes were glued to you as he relaxed in his seat, his eyes studying you like the most interesting piece of art he’d ever seen. You didn’t realize you were staring at first, but even when you did, the fact didn’t seem to deter you.
“Now that the first challenge has ended,” The host started back up. “Will you be honest and admit whether you chose to kiss someone other than your partner? Or are your lips officially sealed for good?” She taunted, looking around with a glint in her eye. “Until then, please, make your new islanders feel welcome. Who knows? You might want to be on their good side…” Ariana shrugged. “Until we meet again. Good luck.”
YOU TRAILED BEHIND THE GIRLS AS THEY WALKED TOWARDS A LOUNGE AREA, a fair distance away from where the boys had also gathered to chat. You figured it’d best to get on with the women first. You were here to find love, but you weren’t in the business of making enemies.
As they all sat down, you took a seat between the blonde and the girl with the brown curls.
“Okay, that was kind of crazy.” Kiara spoke first, eyes wide.
“Wait, you got kissed?” Sarah asked, jaw slack. Kiara just nodded sheepishly. “Oh my gosh, who do you think it was? Because, so did I, and I think it may have been-” Sarah cut herself off mid-sentence, eyes drifting to you. “Oh shit, we’re being so rude.” She clasped her hands over her mouth, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Hi. You’re gorgeous, like stunning, actually. I’m Sarah,” She started pointing to herself, then the others. “That’s Kiara, Cleo, and Ruthie.”
They all waved, sending you warm smiles, even though you could tell there was still some lingering worry. The coldest was Ruthie, offering you a pained grimace before rolling her eyes.
You introduced yourself in return, telling the girls your name before diving right into your real concerns. “Can someone fill me in? I know it’s still the first day but I feel like I missed so much. I mean, you’re already coupled up. How did that happen? Did the guys pick?”
“Actually, we did” Sarah beamed, tucking a strand of hair behind hear ear and glancing at the guys across the lawn. “So, I’m coupled up with Topper, that guy right there.” She pointed to him, sitting tense in his seat.
“Who I was coupled with first,” Ruthie retorted from her place next to Kiara, arms crossed as she looked you up and down briefly.
“Yeah,” Sarah cringed. “I did kind of steal him, but it’s still early! Sorry, Ruthie...” She apologized, Ruthie offering no words in response as she shrugged, trying to act unbothered.
Confessional : Sarah
“I don’t know if Ruthie is actually mad about the whole Topper thing. I hope not…” She trailed off, squinting. “It’s literally our first day. How mad can she really be?”
“Plus, you ended up with Rafe,” Sarah continued, relaxing in her seat. “I’d say that’s still a win.”
“I didn’t pick him,” Ruthie sassed back, trying to lighten her words with a chuckle this time. “But he seems to be interested in me so, yeah, ‘I’d say that’s still a win’.” She mocked lightheartedly(?).
Confessional : Ruthie
“Rafe’s not showing as much interest as I’m used to, but I obviously can’t admit that with this new bombshell here. She’s not even all that but I need to secure my spot because I’ll be damned if I’m the first to go home.”
“What about you?” You turned to Kiara, trying to break the tension in the air. “You’re with the brunette guy, right?”
Kiara simply nodded, a small smile tugging on her face. “Yeah, but I didn’t pick him. We were the only two that weren’t coupled up at the end of the first coupling. I, uh, had actually picked Pope, the guy sitting next to him.”
“Oh, him?” You asked, pointing over your shoulder. “Oh, that sucks. He’s hot.” You giggled, turning to direct your next comment at Cleo. “So, I’m guessing you swooped in and took him for yourself?” You joked, Cleo throwing her hands up as she leaned back.
“Hey, man,” She started. “I didn’t wanna do it to Kiara but I had to.” She defended, the topic clearly less offensive than the Ruthie and Sarah situation.
“So, besides me, did any of you kiss anyone?” You pressed, tucking your feet underneath you.
“Nope,” Ruthie was the first to speak after not including herself for most of the discussion. But something in your gut told you she wasn’t being quite honest…
“No, but I wonder who was the first guy that kissed me…” Kiara added, pouting. “He was really gentle, it was kind of sweet.”
Sarah sighed as she leaned into her seat. “Same, whoever kissed me did it like they’d been waiting to do it all day or something.
Confessional : Sarah
“I have a feeling it was John B that kissed me…” She laughed out loud. “I know it’s weird! But who else could it have been?”
“And you two didn’t get kissed by anyone outside of JJ?” You asked, shooting glances at Ruthie and Cleo, both girls shaking their heads.
“But what about you, girl?” Cleo interjected, hugging a pillow in front of her. “You got to kiss all the boys! Don’t be shy,” She urged, shrugging a shoulder with a curious smile on her face. “Who was your favorite?”
You laughed under your breath, palming the back of your neck. “I don’t think I should say…” The girls all collectively groaned, throwing their heads back. “I don’t wanna make anyone mad!” You defended, a small pout of your face as your eyebrows first.
“Oh, please!” Kiara stepped in. “We haven’t even shared a bed with these guys yet. Tell us!” She urged, playfully shaking your shoulder.
“Okay! Okay…” You surrendered, taking a deep breath and sinking into your seat. “...None of the kisses were bad…”
“But?” Sarah egged on, a teasing smile on her face.
“...But, one guy definitely made a… lasting impression.” You muttered, adjusting in your seat as your eyes drifted up to gaze across the lawn at the guy in question, only to find him staring back at you.
The girls followed your gaze like a pack of bloodhounds, their heads all swiveling toward the boys’ fire pit at once. Across the way, Rafe didn't even have the decency to look away. He was still leaned back, arms draped over the back of the sofa, watching you with that same heavy, unreadable intensity.
"No way," Sarah gasped, her jaw dropping. "Rafe? Seriously?"
Ruthie’s posture went from relaxed to stiff as a board in 0.5 seconds. She let out a sharp, forced laugh that didn't reach her eyes, smoothing down her hair. "I mean, he’s a good-looking guy, obviously. That's why I'm with him. But he's definitely a 'one-woman' kind of guy, you know? Probably just trying to be polite back to you."
Confessional : Ruthie
She picks at her manicure, looking absolutely livid despite her voice staying calm. "Am I pissed? No. I’m humored. It’s actually hilarious that she thinks she has a chance. She comes in, kisses everyone like she’s at a buffet, and thinks the guy I’m coupled with is into it?” She scoffs, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I’m totally fine. Like, literally so chill right now."
"I don't know, Ruthie," Cleo smirked, nudging you. "He's literally burned a hole through the side of her head for the last ten minutes..."
You felt the heat crawl up your neck. "I’m not trying to step on toes, I promise. It was just... the chemistry was there.” You shrugged sheepishly. “I can't lie about it."
"Well, explore it!" Sarah encouraged, though she glanced nervously at Ruthie. "That’s what we’re here for, right?"
THE NIGHT WOUND down with a few more drinks and some awkward small talk, but eventually, the exhaustion of the first day hit. The villa felt massive and glowing, but as you retreated to the dressing room to wash off the day, the silence felt heavy.
You were standing at the mirror, scrubbing off your makeup, when the door creaked open. You expected Sarah or Kiara, but when you looked in the reflection, you saw the buzzcut and those piercing eyes. Rafe leaned against the doorframe, hands in the pockets of his pajama pants.
"Long day?" he asked. His voice was deeper than earlier, a bit raspy.
"You could say that," you murmured, reaching for a towel and wiping the water from your face. "I think I've met about ten people and kissed five of them. My brain is fried."
Rafe stepped closer as you hung the towel up, invading your personal space in a way that made your heart do a frantic little dance against your ribs. He smelled like expensive cologne and the ocean. "Only one of those kisses mattered, though.” He drawled, looking you up and down. “Right?"
You turned around, leaning your back against the cool marble of the sink. "You're pretty confident for a guy who’s supposedly 'happy' in his couple.” You challenged, quirking a brow. “Ruthie seems to think you’re pretty set on her."
Rafe let out a dry chuckle, stepping even closer until he was inches away. He reached out, his thumb catching a stray bit of damp hair stuck to your temple. "Ruthie is... a lot. And for the record? I didn't pick her. She picked me.” He assured, a soft smile on his lips. “Don't believe everything you hear in this place."
"So…you're telling me you're not interested?" you challenged once more, looking up at him.
"I'm telling you," he whispered, his eyes dropping to your lips for a lingering second before snapping back to yours, "that I haven't been able to think about anyone else since I took that blindfold off.” He rasped, the air growing thick as you noted the lack of space between you. “You've got this way of looking at me like you already know all my secrets. It's frustrating."
You shrugged. "Maybe I do," you teased, your voice barely a whisper.
He smirked, that dangerous look returning. "Then you know you should probably stay away from me.” He said, a hard look in his eyes. “But I really hope you don't."
He lingered for a second too long, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife, before he winked and headed toward the bedroom. You stood there for a full minute, heart hammering, trying to remember how to breathe.
And as the lights dimmed in the bedroom later, you climbed into your temporary bed next to JJ. Across the room, you saw Rafe settling in next to a very clingy Ruthie. Just before the last light clicked off, he turned his head. In the shadows, your eyes met.
THE MORNING SUN hit the villa with a vengeance. The makeup room was a blur of hairspray, bronzer, and whispered gossip. You were sitting in a chair next to Sarah, who was aggressively blending her concealer.
"So," Sarah whispered, leaning in. "I saw him follow you into the bathroom last night. Spill."
Your eyes went wide before you looked around the room, the other girls occupied as you bit your lip, trying to suppress a smile. "He basically said he’s not into Ruthie. He said he didn't even choose her, they just ended up together."
Sarah squealed quietly. "I knew it! He couldn’t stop looking at you, girl.If he’s into you, he’s into you. You should definitely explore it. Don't let Ruthie scare you off. She’s just territorial because she knows her spot is shaky."
"I just,” you sighed. “I don't want to be the villain," you admitted, applying some lip gloss.
"Honey, it's Love Island," Sarah laughed. "Everyone is the villain to someone. Go get your man." She nudged your shoulder.
You took her advice to heart. The rest of the afternoon was spent "mingling." You talked to Topper about his gym routine (boring, but he was nice enough), chatted with John B about surfing (he was definitely more Sarah's speed), and had a long talk with Kiara about how stressed she was feeling.
During a quiet moment by the pool with JJ, both of your phones let out that iconic tri-tone chime.
"Yo! I got a text!" JJ and yourself shouted in unison, jumping up. "JJ and Y/N, as our bombshells, it’s time to see if the grass is greener. You each have one minute to pick one Islander you're most drawn to for a private getaway in the Hideaway. #DoubleDate #HideawayHoneymoon"
Everyone went silent. You didn't even have to think.
"I'm picking Cleo," JJ said immediately, grinning at her. Pope looked like he’d just swallowed a lemon whole.
"And I pick... Rafe," you said, your voice steady despite the daggers Ruthie was throwing at you from the sun lounger.
Confessional : Pope
"I mean, JJ picking Cleo? It’s whatever. We’re just a couple of days in. But I can't lie, it stings a bit. Especially since I’m still sitting here feeling like a total jerk for kissing Kie during the challenge. I’m in the doghouse with myself, and now my partner is headed to the Hideaway with the guy who looks like a literal Abercrombie model.” He face palms. “Great."
Confessional : Ruthie
"She is so desperate. It’s actually embarrassing to watch. She’s gunning for Rafe because she thinks he’s the 'safe' option to stay in the villa, but she doesn't realize he’s just playing along to be nice. She’s clearly jealous of what I have with him. She can have her little hour in the Hideaway. He’ll be back in my bed tonight, guaranteed."
THE HIDEAWAY was everything you'd expect—plush furs, neon signs, and an oversized bed. There were two separate areas set up for the two couples. You and Rafe sat across from each other on a velvet sofa, a deck of cards between you.
"‘The Deep Dive’ game," Rafe read the box, a smirk playing on his lips. "You ready for this? I don't exactly play fair."
"I’m a psych major, Rafe. I literally study people for a living. Good luck," you countered, plucking the first card. "What do you think people would say is your biggest red flag?"
Rafe leaned back, watching you. "I'll go first.” He shrugged “I have a…temper. Or used to. I’m workin’ on it. And I tend to get obsessed with things—or people—pretty fast.” He edged, eyes glued to you. “Your turn."
You shifted, getting comfortable. "I overanalyze everything," you admitted. "I'll spend three hours wondering why you texted ‘gm’ instead of ‘good morning gorgeous’.'"
As the game went on, the walls started to come down. You talked about your pasts—Rafe’s pressure from his family, your desire to find someone who actually sees you and not just the version of you they want.
Then, the questions got… spicier.
"What’s the most adventurous place you’ve ever done it?"
Rafe’s eyes darkened, leaning in close, laughing lowly. "On a boat. Middle of the marsh. No one for miles. You?"
You pretended to think, feeling the warmth in your cheeks. "...A library," you whispered, the proximity making your skin tingle. "The 'History' section was too quiet for my liking, I guess."
He laughed, a genuine, warm sound. His laughter brought a shy smile to your face as you plucked a piece of chocolate from the small snack tray on the table, placing it on your tongue as Rafe leaned back, studying you with a smirk. "...I think I like you, angel.” He said softly. “And I’m not jus’ sayin’ that for the cameras."
You huffed a small laugh, chewing the piece of chocolate before looking at him through your lashes. “I think I like you too, Cameron.” The two of you stared at one another before deciding to look for another game, pulling a new deck of cards from under the table. “Truth or Dare,” you hummed, playing with the cards in your hands. “You up for it, Cameron?”
MEANWHILE, back in the main villa, the atmosphere was a lot less romantic. The remaining Islanders were gathered around the fire pit, the conversation turning to the "Kiss and Tell" challenge.
"Come on, we’re all friends here," Topper said, nudging the group. "Who actually kissed someone else?"
"I didn't," Ruthie said flatly, eyes fixed on the Hideaway door. "I stayed loyal to Rafe." She lied effortlessly.
"I didn't either," Topper added, looking Sarah right in the eye. No shame.
"Me neither," John B shrugged, looking as cool as a cucumber as he kicked his feet up.
The silence stretched until Pope sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I did.” He said, voice barely above a whisper. “I…kissed Kiara."
The group erupted. Sarah gasped, and Kiara looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole.
"Wait, what?" Sarah asked, looking between them.
"That…that was you?" Kiara stammered, her face turning bright red.
"I just wanted to be honest," Pope muttered, looking crushed. “I know I’m with Cleo but I just…”
Kiara stood up, her eyes watery. "I need... I just need a minute. This is a lot."
She hurried off the bedrooms and Pope started to stand up, but John B put a hand on his shoulder. "Give her space, man. Let her breathe."
Confessional : Kiara
“I think Pope’s a great guy and he’s definitely an option, but,” She sighed, running a hand through her curls. “I know that Cleo is really into him. This is a shit-show…”
IT WAS NEARLY 2:00 AM when you got the text telling you all that the Hideaway date was finally over and doors opened. You and Cleo walked out first, whispering and giggling about the night.
"I'm telling you, JJ is a menace," Cleo laughed, though she looked like she’d had the time of her life. “He’s funny, definitely a character. But I’m not sure he’s my type like that, you know?”
"Yeah, trust me, I get it.” You assured, keeping your voice low. “Rafe is... he's actually deep," you told her, smiling. "I didn't expect to connect with him like that…"
Behind you, Rafe and JJ were walking together, talking in low tones. "She's different, man," you heard Rafe tell JJ. "I’m not just talking about her looks. She actually listens, she’s funny, her personality is great."
His words brought a small smile to your face, one Cleo noticed as she nudged your shoulder with a smirk.
As you entered the bedroom, a few of the boys whooped and cheered. "Y’all are back! How was it?" Topper shouted as everyone walked to gather around the four of you.
But the mood was quickly killed when Ruthie stood up, marching right into your personal space, her face contorted with rage.
"Having fun, are we?" she spat. "You know, there are four other guys in here. But you had to pick the one who was already in a stable couple.” She hissed. “You have it out for me, don't you?"
“Hey—” Rafe intervened, putting an arm between you two.
But you didn't flinch. You just looked her up and down, keeping your voice calm and level. "Ruthie, if you're upset about the date, that sounds like a conversation you need to have with Rafe.” You clapped back. “He’s right here.” You looked up at him before narrowing your eyes back on her. “...Or maybe you're just upset because he didn't seem to miss you that much."
The ‘oohs’ from the rest of the group were audible.
She scoffed, taking a step back. "I'm the only one here with any respect." Ruthie yelled.
"Actually," you said, leaning in with a snarky grin, "you're the only one here making a scene. And for what it's worth? Rafe had a very good time.” You snarked with a cocky smile. “You should ask him about dare number three."
Ruthie stood there fuming with her nostrils flared before stomping off.
Rafe stepping in front of you, sighing as he ran a hand down his face. “I am so sorry about that shit. I know she’s not my actual girlfriend or anything, Thank God, but—”
“It’s not your fault, Rafe.” You chuckled, running a hand down his arm. “I’ve dealt with girls like Ruthie my entire life. I’m fine. Trust me.”
Suddenly, Kiara emerged into the bedroom and signaled Cleo, no one even noticing her absence. The pair walked off into the corner, their faces grim.
The entire room went dead silent as everyone watched them—you, Rafe, and JJ standing confused.
"...What happened while we were gone?" you asked, sensing the shift in energy.
“Kiss and Tell challenge, man…” Was all Topper offered, heading into the bathroom.
A few minutes later, Cleo and Kiara returned. Kiara was wiping her eyes, and Cleo looked furious. Cleo walked straight up to Pope, grabbed his arm, and pulled him outside. When they came back in five minutes later, the silence was deafening. They weren't looking at each other, and Pope looked like he’d seen a ghost.
The bedroom atmosphere was tense and awkward. And since you and JJ were the bombshells and didn't have official couples yet, you were assigned the spare bed in the corner.
As you climbed in, JJ’s lanky legs immediately tangled with yours. "Uh-uh. Watch the toes, JJ!" you joked loudly, trying to break the tension.
The room erupted in laughter, the first bit of relief in the last few minutes.
Across the room, Ruthie returned from wherever she’d stormed off to and tried to crawl into bed next to Rafe, throwing her arm over his chest. Rafe didn't even look at her. He stayed stiff as a board for about ten minutes before he sighed deeply and abruptly sat up, shoved his feet into his slippers, and walked out of the room without a word.
Ruthie let out a frustrated groan and rolled over, pretending to sleep.
You lay there, staring at the ceiling after watching him leave. Not able to sleep as your mind clouded with thoughts of him—the kiss, the bathroom, the hideaway. He was all consuming.
After a few beats, you quietly slid out from JJ’s side and crept out of the room.
The outdoor area was bathed in blue moonlight and in the large woven hammock in the center of the garden, was Rafe. He was wrapped in a thick blanket, staring up at the stars.
You walked over slowly, your feet bare on the cool grass as you stood before him, your frame casting a shadow over his frame. “Hey, Cameron,” you whispered, poking him. "Need some company?"
Rafe looked over, his expression softening instantly when he realized it was you. He didn't say anything. He just reached out, lifted the edge of the heavy wool blanket, and held it open for you.
You climbed in, the hammock swaying gently as you settled against his chest as he wrapped the blanket tightly around both of you, his chin resting on the top of your head as the villa finally went quiet around you.
When you two had decided to keep things casual and lowkey, he thought he had it handled.
Easy, right? No labels. No fuss. No reason to tweak out.
Until about 2 days later when Hinata’s casually asking you out to lunch.
Bright grin, sparkling eyes, sunshine practically pouring out of him. You smile sweetly and glance at Atsumu for just a second before accepting.
Something twists in his stomach, something hot and ugly.
Later that night, he's got you pinned beneath his heavy body as you cuddle on the couch.
“Yer not goin' out with him," he grumbles, stubborn frown firmly in place.
"It's just lunch," you laugh, brushing your fingers through his hair gently, “It's friendly”
“Don’t care. Yer my girl, I ain’t lettin Mr. Sunshine steal ya away”
You can’t help the laugh at escapes you, goofy little grin on your lips that cools his head a little, “I thought we were keeping things casual?” you tease lightly.
He puffs out his cheeks, frowning, “I only said yeah cause ya suggested it! If it were up to me, we’d be at the courthouse gettin married right now!”
He immediately freezes, the tips of his ears turning pink, his face morphing into pure horror as he blinks at you.
Like even he can’t believe he just said that.
Lucky for him, you laugh it away, the sound filling the room easily.
He huffs out a little laugh of his own, shyly glancing away from your face, nervous knots in his stomach.
It's almost hard to watch him squirm, his usual confidence nowhere to be found, replaced by something so unbearably sweet and flustered.
You gently pull his face back toward yours, amused smile tugging at your lips, “You wanna marry me already?”
Atsumu groans, immediately burying his face in your shoulder, “Yer makin' fun of me”
"I'm just asking!”
He peeks up at you, ears still burning red, heart beating way too hard.
“I don't think I'm cut out for casual," he suddenly blurts.
The confession hangs in the air for just a moment.
His arms tighten around your waist, “I tried. Really. But every time somebody looks at ya for longer than two seconds, I start tweakin out”
“You’re such a loser”, you tease, scrunching your nose at him, pretending the confession didn’t make your stomach flip.
“I’d bark if ya asked me” he says real serious, pulling a laugh from you.
“Hopeless,” you mumble, cupping his cheeks to leave little kisses all over.
“Eh,” Atsumu shrugs easily, leaning into your touch, “I’m a loverboy, so what?”
————————————————————————
A/N: I’ve got way more time to write now, prepare to be sick of me
loveboy atsumu is so canon to me u can’t tell me that man isn’t obnoxiously in love with his partner
i saw a video where the wife texts her husband that she’s leaving while he’s busy and he immediately gets up and searches for her to stop her, do you think you could pls write that with clark? thank you!
Ty for requesting! fem, 0.7k
Clark gets a wrinkle between his brows when he’s reading. It’s an expression completely paradoxical to his own enjoyment; he looks like he could throw his tablet across the room and never read again, but he’ll tell you how great it was later, over dinner or laying against you in bed.
You are, admittedly, attention-seeking as you write him your text. But can you be blamed? You figure anyone with a boyfriend like yours would seek his attention, and often, especially when you’ve been home from work for three hours waiting for him to finish his book so you can make dinner together. He insisted.
You created a new recipe for work that got the third page in the Daily Planet’s spread a few days, and though Clark had the privilege of trying it many many times while you were developing it, he insisted you make the finished product together to celebrate your ‘genius’ and to ‘appease’ his stomach, which loves your cooking.
Im leaving, you type, pondering how best to get him to come and love on you. text me when ur done with ur book <3
You add the heart because you don’t want him stricken by the text, and you certainly don’t want to start an argument. You’d just like him to dote on you and also some dinner. Usually you’d simply tap him on a hard shoulder and say, Hey angel, did you forget the time?
The text pings. Clark reads a few more lines of his book before he puts down his tablet and takes his phone in hand, tapping in his password, and opening your texts. He reads the newest one with a pinched brow, then his head snaps up as he gives a small, fearful gasp.
“Hey, where are you going?” he asks, scrambling up off of the sofa toward you where you’re half hiding in the kitchen. “Don’t leave.”
“I’m just gonna do some errands and stuff while you’re reading. Oof–”
The air puffs out of you from the force of his grabbing. He takes you into his arms and folds you into an embrace that smells like woody pear blossom and almond oil, your face forced into the curve of his neck. “Why didn’t you say something, bubby?” he asks, sounding truly, sincerely heartbroken. He pulls his arm up your back and makes another small gasp. “Jeez, look at the time. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise it was getting this late! Gosh, I bet you’re starving to death, poor girl, I’ve completely neglected you.”
You wrap an arm behind him, feeling the solid planes and shapes of his muscles beneath your warm hand. “A little,” you say, too soft, too silken. It’s nearly silly how small your voice sounds.
Clark just sighs. “Don’t go get errands without me, sweetheart, you need something to eat first. You can’t skip dinner, you’ll give yourself a headache. I’ll give you a headache,” he says, sounding rather self-loathing. “Sorry. I’ve ignored you.”
“Well, yeah, but that’s usually how reading goes.”
“I thought there wasn’t a ton left–” He tips your head back. It’s not forceful, and yet, at the same time, you feel moved, like you don’t have much choice in things as he handles you into whatever position he’d like you to be. He smiles when he meets your eyes, presses a short, sweet kiss to your cheek. “So sorry. I’m a jerk.”
“Clark, it’s okay–” He pecks you and starts cutting off your words, “I’m not mad– I didn’t want to waste– my evening– sat at the bar scrolling– on my– oh my god– on my phone.” You giggle, kissed into tingling lips and warmed by his big hands running up and down your back. “Can I have another one?”
Clark leans down slowly to give you another kiss.
“We will make dinner right now,” he says into your mouth, “so please don’t leave. How’m I supposed to cook with my heart missing?” It’s so insanely corny, you wrap yourself around him like an octopus. He shifts backward to take all your weight. “Is this a yes to staying?” he asks into your cheek.
frank coaxes an overtired tired, tipsy you into his lap and takes over the job of caring for you
𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ interested in how the pitt crew got approved for a week in greece? the original invitation is still posted
PAIRING: frank langdon x er!barbie reader
WARNINGS: fluff, tipsy!reader, au where they are together and in love already!!!!!!, little PDA, lots of yearning, established relationship, protective frank langdon!, kissing, lap sitting, sleeping/passing out
PROMPT: here!
WC: 1.1k
Sometimes Frank thinks he should put you on a leash.
Get one of those toddler backpack rigs with the little animal character on it and clip you in. Maybe that would preserve what remains of his peace.
Morifying for you, humiliating for him, definitely probably a terrible look in public, but at least you’d stay within a five-foot radius and he could stop living in this permanent state of low-grade vigilance you seem to provoke as casually as breathing.
And he loves you. Deeply. Completely.
That’s the problem. Love, with you, is surveillance. It is anticipatory. It is watching for the exact point at which your glittering, social, I’m-fine performance starts to come apart at the seams while you insist it isn’t happening.
You just never seem to know when to stop.
And tonight you are all over the pool patio with a mojito slicking one hand cold and damp, dribbling little sacrificial offerings of rum and mint over the stone, while the other hand keeps straying to the bikini strap at your hip.
Restless. Fidgety. Smiling at everyone. Talking too loudly.
A little drunk, a little sleepy, and, as ever, too stubborn to concede either.
The moment you glance his way, Frank tilts his chin and crooks two fingers in a come here.
A gesture that should not, by any reasonable standard, contain so much possession in it, and yet your expression changes all at once, brightening with buzzed delight as you cross toward him.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite person to be bossed around by,” you say when you reach him, voice dipped in honey. You stop beside his lounger, smiling down at him. It’s such a pretty smile. “Did you miss me terribly?”
“I usually do.”
There’s no point in pretending otherwise.
That gets you.
“Yeah?” You tip forward a little, closing the distance with shameless interest. “Can I get a kiss, then?”
Frank’s mouth twitches. “You can get whatever you want, sweetheart.”
He lifts a hand to your jaw and draws you down, sealing his mouth over yours in a kiss that has to be brief by sheer circumstance, though not so brief he misses the cool, fizzy ghost of lime on your lips.
Sugary and faintly effervescent, the taste of it lingering for one extra second after he pulls back, temptation rendered in citrus.
Frank has never been especially talented at self-control where you are concerned.
It’s why he’s not a fan of PDA. Public affection is never only that. It is a beginning. A permission slip.
One kiss and suddenly he is keenly aware of all the ones he is not having, all the ways he would rather be kissing you if the two of you were alone.
So he stops there, because he has to, and leaves your hand at your jaw instead, thumb brushing once over your cheek.
“What do you say we go find you something to eat?”
You make a face immediately, lower lip pushing out in a sulky little pout. “‘M not hungry.”
“That’s fascinating, because you look like you’re about two minutes from falling asleep standing up.”
“You make everything sound so dire.”
Frank snorts. “Pot, meet kettle.”
Then, in a flawless little proof-of-concept, you sway backward with all the structural integrity of a wilting palm tree.
Frank moves before the thought fully forms, hands shooting out to catch the back of your thigh, fingers splaying over the soft curve just beneath your ass as he drags your forward. One quick tug and there you are, neatly slotted between his legs.
Your hands land on his shoulders and you giggle, as if nearly toppling over into a concussion is somehow charming rather than precisely the kind of thing that keeps shaving years off his life.
He squeezes once, firm and corrective.
“Okay, well, what do you say you keep me company for a while?”
He could tell you to sit down. You might even listen, eventually, but not without first delivering a brief theatrical monologue on authoritarianism and oppression and how cruel it is to stifle your sparkle.
So. Better not make it about obedience. Frank has learned this the hard way, or at least the repetitive way.
There are only so many reliable methods of keeping you where he can see you, and most of them depend on reframing the situation until it no longer sounds like containment.
You resent being managed. You respond beautifully to being needed. Especially by him.
“Mm, okay,” you murmur at once, whatever resistance you had dissolving on contact.
Before Frank can offer any further guidance, you’re already hauling yourself into his lap with spectacularly poor mechanics, all grabby hands and misfiring limbs, nudging him backward against the lounger.
And after a moment of awkward shifting and a fair amount of readjusting, you finally settle into him in a drowsy little heap, half draped across his lap and half tucked into his side.
Frank extracts the mojito from your hand just before the remainder can go down the front of his shirt, though not before a bright cold splash hits his chest anyway.
He puts the glass aside and looks back at you.
Brushes your hair off your face. Once, twice, again, until there you are properly visible beneath it.
You blink up at him, visibly straining to keep your eyes open, lashes heavy with the effort. “You know what Parker told me earlier?”
“Hmm?”
“That you’re not supposed to compliment the moon here.”
Frank’s fingers drift through your hair again. “And why’s that?”
“Apparently,” you say, lowering your voice, “it’s bad luck. Like if you say it’s pretty, then something in your life gets ruined out of jealousy.”
Your finger wanders over his shirt, drawing something looping into the cotton, your nail a shiny petal-pink that matches the sparkle dusted over your eyes.
He asks, “Should I be concerned you’ve already told it how pretty it is?”
A tiny crease appears between your brows.
“Maybe a little.” Your nail catches on his shift before drifting on again. “But it kind of makes sense, doesn’t it? Because Selene is the moon, and Helios is the sun, and they’re siblings, I think, so maybe he gets weird about it… because if everyone keeps talking about how beautiful the moon is, and nobody’s complimenting the sun, that could create resentment. Familial resentment. Which is, like, one of the oldest forces in mythology.”
Frank opens his mouth, halfway to saying that while the ancient Greeks certainly contained enough familial instability to support the theory, he strongly suspects Parker is still just screwing with you, and then he looks down.
You are asleep.
He huffs a laugh through his nose, quiet enough not to disturb you, and shifts his hand higher along your back, settling you more securely against him.
This, too, is part of loving you, he thinks. The rare and fragile privilege of being where you land when the night catches up to you.
Around you, the patio goes on glowing. Voices blur. Glass clinks somewhere in the distance. Water shifts blue-black under the moonlight.
He leans his head back against the lounger and lets himself look out at it for a second. It is a pretty moon.
If Selene is listening, she can be flattered. He’ll take the risk.
this fic was part of my 2 year celebration: maria's summer in santorini
𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ to learn more, click here!
Statistically Speaking - Dr. Brendon “The Shark” Park x Reader
Chapter One: Trinity Santos
Series Summary: After completing your residency, you join the staff at the Pitt, the hospital where your husband of nearly ten years (who you already have five kids with) works. With a common last name and radically different personalities, you make a bet on how long it'll take everyone to figure out that you're married.
Chapter Summary: You and Brendon celebrate your upcoming first shift at PTMC with a huge family bash and a hot night together.
Tags/Notes: wife!mom!doctor!reader, brendon and reader have five kids already, parties, family shenanigans, madly in love couple, smut, oral (f), fingering (f), unprotected piv, creampie, aftercare/sweetness
Content: near fatal birth complication in past (AFE) discussed in detail: to avoid, after “And Felix Park joined the family a little less than eight months later” skip to “‘He’s perfect,’ Brendon assured.”
A/N: local child-free gay trans guy continues to be unable to resist giving big men 4-6 children :// happy wip wednesdays my loves!
Word Count: 7.2k
How you ended up with five kids under ten at the party celebrating your upcoming first day as an emergency department attending is simple: Brendon Park is the single greatest husband and father you’ve ever seen. While your mother-in-law insists that you relax by the pool as she gets the place ready because it’s your party, Brendon watches the kids to keep them out of your hair and manages to be the sexiest man alive while he does it. It’s been unseasonably warm this summer, but you definitely aren’t complaining about soaking in a few poolside days before your job starts. Because of the heat, Brendon’s wearing one of those slutty white tank tops that clings to his sweaty muscles in the late-June heat. He’s got your two-year-old on one hip, your four-year-old holding onto his chest like a koala cub, and your six-year-old on his shoulders. All the while, he manages to play catch with your nine-year-old and help your seven-year-old practice her solo for the community theater musical she’s doing during summer break.
As the gorgeous setup takes shape around you – Brendon’s mother was an event planner before retirement, so every get-together turns into a whole shebang – you admire your husband expertly managing all of the kids. He looks so hot running around the yard with them, tan and sweaty and muscular, that you don’t even notice the mischievous glint in his eyes when he turns to you and catches your gaze. Then, a split second after he mutters something you can’t hear to the kids, the two oldest barrel toward you at top speed, yanking off their cover-ups and launching into the pool in front of you. Water splashes up onto your book and high-waisted-bikini-clad body while Brendon walks over nonchalantly.
You immediately turn to your husband and then to your laughing children. “Benji, Margot, be honest with me: Did your dad put you up to this?”
They make eye contact with each other, then their dad, and then each other again before pinching their noses shut and going under the water.
Setting your book aside, you stand up from your cozy lounger and meet Brendon at the edge of the pool, where he’s helping Nora and Theo into their life jackets since he’s a safety freak the first couple of summers between swim lessons. Once they’re in the water with their siblings, you shove Brendon on the chest and glare. “You are a menace, Bren. Such a bad influence on our poor children.”
“Oh, yeah?” Brendon takes Felix from his carrier, kisses him on the head, and hands him off to his grandmother, who’s floating by as she does final touches for the party. Then Brendon strips his shirt off and tugs you close to his body. You lean up onto your toes for a kiss and he happily gives it to you, arms wrapped protectively around your back. “Excited about your party?”
“Please, we both know this is for your mom and the kids,” you chuckle as you watch her greeting the first few guests, leading them through the house and into the backyard. It’s mostly people from the neighborhood, your kids’ friends and the other couples you hang out with. There was a strict ‘no coworkers’ rule as you and Brendon hadn’t yet decided how to navigate his wife joining his hospital. “My perfect celebration looks a lot more like when you passed your first boards.”
“Mmm.” He kisses you a bit deeper and remembers fondly, “The great Cancun fuck-fest.”
“Keep your voice down,” you giggle as one of Nora’s classmates passes by you to go for the nearby spread of fruit, “this place is crawling with children who don’t need to take the F-word to elementary school this fall.”
He nips your neck and replies, “You’re so lame for a MILF.”
Then, with his hand roving a little too low on your back for a family-friendly party, the one exception to the guest list rule taps you on the shoulder.
“Alright, pervert, it’s my turn with my new boss.”
“Trinity, you made it!” You wrap her up in a hug and squeal with delight. Trinity had been one of your closest friends during undergrad in Philadelphia. She took a gap year once you finished med school, so you had no idea her residency was at PTMC until she ran into Brendon during his first consult to the emergency department. “It’s so crazy that we’re gonna be working together after all this time. Kind of our twenty-year-old selves dream.”
“It’s gonna be fucking awesome,” she confirms with a grin as she pushes a White Claw into your right hand and clinks it with her own. “I’ll finally have someone to bitch with about all the assholes I have to deal with.”
Brendon balks before you can respond. “She gets to curse and I don’t?”
You squeeze his arm and comfort him, “Trin’s a cool aunt, not a dad.”
“An aunt to how many now, by the way?” She looks over the pool that’s now overrun with kids and tries to scan for ones that look like you and Brendon. “Last time I saw you in person, I think there were only two of them and one on the way.”
Pointing them out one by one, you tell her, “We have five now.”
It takes a while for the three of you to catch up on everything that’s happened the last few years, but it’s beautiful and fun to trade stories about the kids. Starting with the oldest, there’s Benji, who was totally unplanned when you were barely into undergrad at UPenn, having met his dad exactly nine months and two weeks before his birth at a mixer where pre-med students got to talk with MS1s about their experience. You were 19 after a gap year and he was 21 after whizzing through undergrad and MCATs at the top of his class. Even if he had sky-high dreams of being a double-board-certified surgeon by 30, Brendon wasn’t just going to abandon you or his kid, so he made an honest woman of you by the time you were showing in a tiny ceremony at the courthouse, promising to give you the wedding of your dreams once the two of you had the money.
By the time you went into labor a few weeks after nailing your first-year finals, Brendon Park was sure of one thing: You were the woman of his dreams and marrying you was the best decision of his life. He never would’ve expected one random hookup to become the center of his universe, but it quickly became undeniable. It was your tenacity that got him. You never skipped a class because of morning sickness, never shied away from going toe-to-toe with a professor at 30-weeks large, and never questioned your own ability to stay at the top of your class with a newborn at home. You tackled the world with a hunger and enthusiasm that made his heart stammer in his chest. He’d never seen anything as sexy as you breastfeeding with one arm while the other you flipped through your organic chemistry textbook with the other, Brendon feeding you eggs and toast and fruit while quizzing you on test prep.
As soon as you were cleared and comfortable, Brendon couldn’t bear to keep his hands off you anytime you two were alone and you were beyond reciprocal; having a husband who not only loved his baby beyond belief and set an incredible example every day had your hormones going bonkers. Hell, he even stopped going to the gym in the morning to let you sleep and started doing his workouts in the living room with Benji strapped to his chest while he did bicep curls or sitting on his back giggling loudly as he did pushups. How’s a woman to resist when she wakes up to that?
Which meant Benji ended up with his first little sister, Margot, while you knocked out MCAT prerequisites and his father passed his USMLE Step 1 and prepared for his clinical work to start. With Brendon’s family being beyond supportive and Margot being a perfect angel as a baby, you jumped into med school headfirst and attended Brendon’s graduation seven months pregnant with Nora.
And, yes, you had planned not to have any more babies until you were well established in your residency. But then you matched into UPSOM’s program, nabbing your spot at Allegheny General, and Brendon took up his orthopedic trauma surgery fellowship at PTMC, and his parents decided to relocate to be near their grandkids, too. In the middle of all the chaos of moving and settling and daycare and preschools, well, some birth control pills may have been missed sort-of-not-totally-on-accident-but-not-really-on purpose-either right around the time you were celebrating Brendon’s first board certification with expensive lingerie and champagne and a trip to Cancun on his sexy new salary. So Theo happened.
Your track record with celebrations made the next one pretty clear, too. When Brendon finished his fellowship with another huge party, his mother, a saint of a woman, hugged you close and said, “Should we expect baby number five in about nine months?”
And that night, Brendon had you in bed once his parents had taken all the kids back to their house after the party. His thumbs brushed lovingly over your stomach’s layers of shiny stretchmarks as he asked gently, “What do you think, sweetheart?”
Knowing exactly what he meant, you raised an eyebrow and pushed, “About what?”
“We’ve got this big house with all these bedrooms now,” he purred as his fingers toyed with the waistband of your panties. “Seems like kind of a shame not to fill all of them up, doesn’t it?”
You helped him shimmy your underwear off and then turned onto your side, throwing one leg over his hip. “You know I always wanted an even number of kids, Bren. We’ve got two boys and two girls. You really want to disrupt the balance?”
“Think about it this way,” he mused as his hands roamed over your body, squeezing your ass and waist and thighs with the same greed he did when you were nineteen, “if we have five kids, then in a few years, we have a whole water polo team. We can have the Willards over and absolutely annihilate them. Establish dominance in the neighborhood.”
You press your forehead into his shoulder and laugh, “They only have four kids.”
His eyes glimmered with mischief. “Not for long. Nat’s pregnant. Jason told me this morning.”
“Well, shit, we’d better make sure their baby has a friend. Perfectly good reason to create another human being,” you replied with an eye roll, fully enjoying making him work for it even when you were already on board. You pursed your lips and pretended to think hard before suggesting, “Although, I believe ultimate frisbee needs seven, too, and that has some appeal for me.”
Brendon grinned wide then. He flipped you onto your back, pinned you between his biceps, and confirmed, “You wanna have an ultimate frisbee team with me, baby?”
As his right hand went between your legs, you sighed in pleasure, “It’s really the only sport I’ve ever taken seriously.”
And Felix Park joined the family a little less than nine months later.
This time, it wasn’t easy.
After four uncomplicated pregnancies and births, you were a pro. You showed up to L&D five centimeters dilated with your hair, nails, and makeup done, wearing your maroon velour tracksuit, Brendon shouldering your go bag and a brand new baby carrier right behind you. Only a few hours later, the baby was in his cot with Brendon standing over him like a hawk, the placenta had just been delivered, and everything should’ve continued into recovery as normal. But an overwhelming, all-consuming sense that something was wrong overcame you like a hurricane.
You reached out and grabbed Brendon’s hand, fingers bruising.
His eyes snapped to yours and he saw the terror in them immediately.
Before he could even open his mouth, your blood pressure tanked, your oxygen plummeted, and the bleeding started. Your eyelids fluttered back as you dropped out of consciousness in a matter of seconds. As the OB dropped down to check for potential causes and solutions while stopping the bleeding, Brendon’s brain lasered into doctor mode as a response to the panic that rose in his throat. Not listening in the slightest as a nurse urged him to stay calm, he violated every protocol in the book by yanking an intubation kit from the closest medical cart to expertly get you oxygen, shouting for transfusions of your blood type, and beginning CPR for blood flow. Nurses and staff fell in line rapidly, deferring to his authority because it was just so forceful and complete. Brendon Park is one of those men who’s impossible to doubt, no matter what he’s doing.
By the time an emergency specialist made it to your room three minutes later, Brendon had run the worst of the code and pretty much singlehandedly stopped you from dying right there on the L&D floor, sweat falling down his brow and onto your hospital gown as he continued compressions. It took three people to get him to step back from you. When the doctor took over on your heart, Brendon collapsed into a panic attack. He’d never felt anything like the tightness in his lungs. A separate nurse came in to give him oxygen while he went down, his eyes wide open and darting around like he was looking for something he couldn’t find. No words made it through the thick haze of his terror until he saw your vitals stabilizing again. Even then, he couldn’t function until you were conscious and tested and they confirmed that you wouldn’t have any lasting issues.
When you came to for real the next morning and they told you what happened, your mischievous eyes spent a second finding his and you teased, “Ooooh, you’re gonna be in so much trouble, pookie.”
He laughed, swatted a tear from his cheek, and kissed you on the top of the head. “Yeah, I got called up by the medical board for a review, but the hospital’s backing me up. Should be a slap on the wrist.”
You nodded, sleepy and accepting, and asked, “How’s the baby doing?”
“He’s perfect,” Brendon assured softly, almost scared to be too loud. “Ten pounds on the dot, 22 inches. Easily one of our top five cutest babies.”
“Another football player,” you laughed, sounding exhausted and delighted and maybe still a touch loopy on painkillers. Leaning your head on his arm, you smile against his skin. “We make very cute babies, even if your stupid genes make them all giants.”
He brushed your cheek with his thumb and murmured, “Your stupid genes didn’t have to keep procreating with my stupid genes.”
You rolled your eyes. “Shut up; you’re so annoying.”
He pouted and offered, “What if I told you that I brought you an Entenmann’s donut variety pack this morning? Powered, chocolate glaze, and crumble just how you like?”
With your weak arms, you reached up and pulled him into a hard kiss. He didn’t care about your unbrushed teeth or greasy skin. To him, you’re everything. He’d kiss you at the end of the world with two minutes left. You leveled him with loving eyes and said, “I lied about you being annoying. You’re the perfect man. Now gimme those donuts.”
All in all, by the time an attending position opened up in Brendon’s hospital right as you finished your residency with five under ten, you’re pretty damn sure you’re done having babies.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Trinity sighs as she sips her second or third drink. “I can barely keep myself and my roommate alive and here you are with five tiny humans and a husband.”
“Once they stop being attached to your boob, it gets easier,” you snicker while watching the kids screeching with laughter as they dive and splash at each other. With Brendon absently rubbing your back while keeping his eyes on the party, you add, “Honestly, at this point, it’ll be weird not being pregnant working at a hospital. I won’t have any excuses to take as many five-minute breaks as I want.”
“A fate worse than death,” Trinity agrees. Then she gestures between the two of you and asks, “Have you figured out how you’re gonna break it to the Pitt that their nice new attending is actually married to the scariest doctor in the hospital?”
You admire Brendon’s sharp side profile for a minute and then shrug. “I figure we’re not gonna keep it a secret but we’re not gonna bring it up. It’s not like Bren’s going to stop being the big bad ortho bro just because I’m there. I’m fully prepared to be on the receiving end of his mean little tirades.”
Brendon bites back a joke about how you like him being mean plenty when it’s just the two of you, instead saying, “And I’m fully prepared for you to stand on your tippy toes and scream in my face when we disagree about patient care.”
You scoff and shove him. “I did not yell at Dr. Torrence that day.”
Brendon gives Trinity a knowing look. “She made him cry over an appendicitis diagnosis.”
Throwing your hands up mock-defensively, you cut back, “Okay, well, god forbid I care if my patients live or die.”
Trinity cracks up at that and says, “The way you go back and forth with each other, you should place bets on how long it takes everyone to figure out that you’re married.”
Brendon tilts his beer toward her. “Now that could be fun.”
Before you can call them both children, your mother-in-law comes up behind you and leans in near your and Brendon’s ears. “The kids are getting antsy about the cake, my loves.”
Brendon nods, stands up, and shouts in his bellowing serious voice, “Everybody gather ‘round; I have to give my sappy speech about how proud of my wife I am now!”
From around the pool area and by the fire pitt and grill, all the partygoers circle the central table with its cake reading Congratulations, Dr. & Dr. Park! Even the kids reluctantly clamber out of the pool after a little coaxing from their grandparents.
Brendon lifts his arm for you to step into. With an eye roll, you do, head on his chest. He dramatically clears his throat and begins, “Honey, I’ve told you a million times already, but I’m never gonna get tired of saying it: I am so proud of you for finishing your residency and taking the next leap in your medical career. I know firsthand just how hard you’ve worked every step of the way to be the biggest know-it-all in the history of the world.”
“Absolutely right,” you cut in with a serious nod. Patting his well-defined pec, you nudge, “Wrap it up, you big sap, there’s a cake to eat.”
“Alright, alright,” he chuckles. Then he cups your cheek and says, “You are by far the most impressive person I’ve ever met. You continue to change my definition of what’s possible every day. I cannot wait to work with you so I can finally prove that someone actually likes me.” Brendon kisses you warmly as his friends laugh a little too knowingly. Then he hushes the crowd once more and says, “Of course, if you’ve come to a Park family summer house party before, you know that we always end our toasts with a particular tradition-”
With the kids already cheering and clapping from the anticipation, you try to squirrel out from under his arm with a wicked shriek of, “Brendon Alexander Park, you swore you wouldn’t do this tonight!”
“-before we can cut that cake and continue the evening’s festivities-”
You manage to get out of his grip and make a sprinting break for the yard, careful not to run by the pool area because you will never hear the end of it from Benji after several summers of yelling at him for the same. “You are so in for it, Bren!”
“-my beautiful wife absolutely must get into the pool she insisted we put in-”
Brendon catches you easily since you aren’t really trying to evade him as all your friends and family clap. You hiss, “I will murder you after this.”
“-by any means necessary!” Brendon grabs you under your ass and hoists you above his head onto his shoulders with ease. Holding your legs tight to his chest while you balance above him, he walks to the edge of the water and you pretend to put up a fight by squirming just to annoy him. Brendon grabs his beer from the table and lifts it to the sky. “Everyone, please raise your glasses and join me in celebrating the love of my life, the mother of my five perfect spoiled children, who is way too good for me even on my best days, and now my fellow PTMC attending physician, Dr. Park!”
As everyone lifts their drinks and claps and whoops, Brendon takes one celebratory swig of his beer, sets it down, and then jumps into the deep end, plunging you both into the water. It’s the perfect temperature for swimming even without the heated feature turned on and you surface with mock offense on your face. Laughing and wiping water away, you push him on the chest and say, “I hate you. You’re by far the worst husband on the face of the planet.”
He nods in agreement as he pulls you toward him, able to touch the bottom of the pool several steps before you can. As you instinctively wrap your legs around his hips, he kisses you and murmurs, “I’m so fucking proud of you, baby. I know there was never any doubt you’d finish your residency-”
“Damn straight.”
“-but the fact that you did it all while being such an attentive mom and wife and-”
“Please don’t make me cry,” you whimper gently. You hug him tight. “Thank you so much for supporting me and us all these years. We really did it.”
“We really did,” he confirms with a laugh. Then he leans in close and murmurs, “By the way, I managed to pawn all the kids off to their friends’ places for sleepovers while you were mingling, so we have the house to ourselves tonight.”
“You’re joking,” you reply, mouth open in true shock. You cup his ear and giggle, “You’re telling me we get to fuck loud and uninterrupted tonight?”
With a shit-eating grin, he nods and kisses you hard. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you, angel.”
Then, having absolutely housed a corner piece of cake in a matter of milliseconds, Benji raises his pool noodle and proclaims, “No kissing in the pool! Get ‘em!”
You shriek and bury your face in Brendon’s neck as four of your kids cannonball in at once, spraying water everywhere and immediately latching onto your and Brendon’s backs.
Late that night, with the house and yard cleaned up and the kids at their friends’ or grandparents’ places, Brendon pulls you into the oversized shower and rubs your shoulders under the water. For a few minutes, he just lets you soak in the steam and the quiet as he greedily touches you, no shouting children running around or banging on the door. It’s been a while since the two of you have been able to shower together for more than practical time-saving reasons, so Brendon’s eager to hold you close even as he massages shampoo and conditioner through your hair. You can feel the pride and adoration in his every touch and in his content little groans when you return the favor, working him over with a sudsy loofah and following it with your hands.
Brendon trades off once he’s clean, cupping your soapy breasts and sighing happily into a slow kiss that you step onto your toes to give him. His fingers slip down your waist, over your thighs, through your pubic hair. He even drops down to his knees and lifts each of your feet to wash them, kissing your knees once the water’s washed away the suds. Standing up again, he murmurs gently, “Turn around, sweetheart.”
With a big yawn, you move so he can get your back, definitely not selfishly working your muscles with his hands too.
“Don’t tell me you’re too sleepy for sex,” he teases as you yawn again, leaning your weight against his chest as he rubs the loofah down your lower back.
You reach down and pinch his thigh vengefully. “Did I say that?”
“Ouch! Fuck, baby, I take it back,” he laughs, tightening his arms around you. He bites your shoulder playfully before saying, “Let’s get you out of here so you can prove it to me, hm?”
“I like the sound of that.”
You turn around slowly and give him one more kiss before reaching behind him and turning off the water. Brendon’s quick to grab your fluffy towel robe, wrapping you in it before your skin can even consider getting cold. Before he can turn away, you rest your arms around the back of his neck and tug him into another kiss. He holds your face between his large hands and lets out a soft, breathy sound close to a moan. You love the little noises he makes when he’s so perfectly content. Noises that only you have ever gotten to hear.
Murmuring into the kiss, you offer, “Take me to bed, handsome.”
But Brendon shakes his head no and picks up your moisturizer from the counter behind you, presenting it to you with a pointed look. “Do your post-shower routine first. You’ll be all cranky if your skin starts getting tight and I don’t want you thinking about anything that’ll distract you from feeling so fucking good you go brain-dead. Got it?”
You pout as you take the moisturizer and unscrew it, “To be loved is to be seen or whatever.”
Brendon starts in on his own routine, too, opening up the medicine cabinet. “You’re almost out of the one you take in the morning – the modafinil,” he says as he collects your handful of bedtime pills the way he does every night, taking care of you in the small moments. “You have an appointment set up for that already?”
“Yes, I do, Dr. Micromanager,” you reply, all faux-huffy. With your skin care done, he hands off your pills and you take them with a few gulps of water from the sink. “I might ask to try something else, though. It’s been a month on them already and I don’t feel like they’re actually helping me feel less tired. Plus, now that I’m gonna be an attending, I’ll only be on day shift, so the whole Shift Work Sleep Disorder situation might resolve itself.”
“I hope so,” he sighs, softly rubbing your back. “I know we all go through it as doctors, but I hate watching you deal with something I can’t fix myself.”
“Mmm.” You give him a soft kiss on the cheek and smile. “My knight in shining armor.”
He kisses your temple. “And you’ll always be my princess.”
Then you toy with the tie on your robe, give him your most sultry eyes, and ask, “Now can you fuck me, Sir Brendon? Or are there any more tasks I have to complete first?”
“All you have to do for the rest of the night-” he slides your robe down your shoulders, returns it to its hook, and begins to push you backwards, into the bedroom “-is let me worship you.”
As the back of your knees hit the plush, high-thread-count comforter, you softly laugh, “I think I can do that for you.”
“That’s my girl,” he praises as he spreads you out on the bed, making sure you’re comfortably arranged among the pillows before he pushes your knees apart. When he sees your pussy, framed by those perfect dimpled thighs and your curls of hair, his cock throbs against the sheet and he groans, “Fuck, baby. Can’t believe you’re mine.”
You roll your eyes and smile down at him. “I’ve been yours since I was 19, Bren.”
“And you’re only getting better,” he purrs as he leans down and laps at your slit. With your tartness coating his tongue, he pulls back, nods solemnly, and groans like he’s just chugged a nice cold beer after a long day of work, “Yeah, that’s the stuff right there.”
You giggle and cover your face with your arm. “Stop being silly; you know it turns me on.”
“And the worst thing I’d ever want to do when I’m here between my wife’s legs,” he muses as he slides his two middle fingers inside of you agonizingly slowly, “is turn her on.”
Your back arches while you stretch around him. Once he’s touching you, there’s no more room in your brain for teasing or comebacks. All you can think about is him. His tongue makes familiar contact with your clit and you’re done for. You let yourself sink into the pleasure of being with a man who knows every centimeter of your body as well as his own. He eats you out the way he operates: Precise, practiced, self-assured, and with ten years of training under his belt.
Loose and warm from the night drinking and the hot shower with your hot husband, you’re easily enveloped by Brendon’s obvious desire. You slip into it as naturally as you breathe. His tongue pulses against your clit and his free hand travels upward until he can take your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He pinches and rolls until he finds that combination of pressure and skill to make you moan loud and uninhibited.
Brendon’s got you right where he wants you once he’s using both his hands and his mouth to get you off. If he could use something else at the same time to heighten it for you, he would. When he feels your walls tightening slowly around his fingers, he slows way down and makes you work for it. You whine pathetically at the change in pace and grind your hips down against his fingers to get them deeper and faster the way you need.
Finally – it feels like finally even if it’s been thirty seconds because you’re so worked up – Brendon pushes you over the edge. You clamp down tight around his fingers, thighs tensing around his head, and bliss burns down the candle of your body. Brendon surges forward as you instinctively try to squirm away, his hand going to your hip to hold you against his mouth. He always insists on you riding out every single ounce of pleasure he can give you.
Your gasps turn to little hiccuping moans in the wake of your first orgasm – because, as Brendon makes it very clear, there will be a second. And likely a third if he can get you into the right loose headspace where you’ll go along with everything he says. He pulls off slightly, gently rubs your hip with his thumb, and asks, “Doing okay, baby?”
With half-lidded eyes, you giggle, “Very good, Bren. Gonna come fuck me now?”
“After you’ve only cum on my face once?” He wrinkles up his face in offense. “No fucking way.”
You fake-pout. “Maybe I want you to cum on my face for a change.”
Brendon rolls his eyes and gets back to your clit. You laugh for a second until the contact of his tongue turns it into a moan. He makes a knowing little sound and you grind down on his tongue to get at him, which only makes him more of a menace. He gets lost in it with your juices coating his hand and your pussy still fluttering greedily around his fingers. When he slips a third thick finger into you, the corresponding groan is music to his ears. You’re used to how ridiculous fat his cock is by now, but he’s always sure to stretch you out with fingers or toys beforehand no matter what. No way is he ever going to hurt his perfect girl, not even on accident.
As you get positively stupid, making high-pitched pathetic sounds like ah ah ah, your hands find their way into Brendon’s dark curls. When you tug against his scalp, he whimpers into your pussy, madly in love with your taste, your touch, your tenderness. Everything about you turns him on, but especially the way you totally stop thinking as you lose your inhibitions. Your hips start to roll and your fingers get greedy and Brendon is the happy recipient of each unconscious writhe and wail.
Your second orgasm is slower, looser, less a train barreling through and more a ship rising with the gentle tide, unnoticed at first but unrelenting. You chase his fingers and, this time, he doesn’t mess around with any teasing or slowing down. He stays the course, certain and steady as a compass, until he feels you burst around his fingers. Your moans turn to breathy coos as he eases you through the overstimulation and back down to earth.
When he’s satisfied with his work, Brendon crawls on top of you and kisses your parted lips. You lean up into the kiss with a happy groan, tasting yourself on his tongue. He kisses you deeply for a minute, one hand needy on your breast as he rubs your nipples, and you feel his hard cock grinding against your thigh. You reach down and palm his length, breathily begging, “C’mon, Bren, I need you.”
He kisses your neck, his tongue and teeth worshipping the skin behind your ear, over your pulse, above your collarbone. Sounding too self-righteous for his own good, he rasps against your ear, “Yeah? Need to get fucked?”
You roll your eyes and groan at him, “I didn’t get married to beg for dick when I want it.”
“Possessive, much?”
You squeeze his bicep – hard, a little mean – and whine, “Holding out for absolutely zero reason because you want it as bad as I do, much?”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Brendon reaches down and pumps his cock a few times as you spread your legs wider to accommodate his thick thighs. As he lines himself up with you, feeling your warm wetness inviting him in, he murmurs, “You’re always right.”
You grin as he ever-so-slowly pushes inside of you. “God, you know how to talk dirty.”
He groans as your eyes roll back with the pleasure of him bottoming out inside of you, already looking so fuck-drunk from his time spent between your legs. This is his favorite thing in the world: Getting you off so well and so thoroughly that he can use you however the hell he wants and you’ll just be a crying, moaning mess as you happily take it. He bends so that he can hold you close, your clit bumping against his coarse happy trail. Gazing down lovingly at the way your slick, swollen pussy lips envelop his shaft, he croons, “There you go, baby. My pretty girl.”
Clutching his shoulders, you keen pathetically, “You feel so good.”
“You have no idea, baby.” He grips your ass hard, holding your body against his by the ample fat there. Grunting and trying to control himself, he breathes, “I swear you feel better every time I fuck you.”
You dig your fingernails into his shoulder blades and demand, “Then how about you stop chit-chatting and fuck me?”
“That’s what I like to hear,” he chuckles darkly, grabbing your hips to keep you locked in place, unable to do anything but take his cock. And he pounds you. He uses the full force of those sculpted thighs and ass and stomach to snap his cock forward, only pulling half of the way out before slamming back in. His blunt head punches against your cervix; it would be painful if you weren’t so perfectly molded to be his and his alone, your bodies knowing one another as well as your minds.
Once you’re whimpering and biting your lip and struggling to keep your eyes open from the unrelenting force, Brendon’s dominant hand travels away from your waist and between your legs. With a delicious roughness to his tone, he purrs, “I think you can give me one more, can’t you? A big one, too, maybe even get me nice and wet if I play my cards right. What do you think, baby? Can you do that for me?”
When you can’t come up with a response, Brendon takes your face in one hand, pushing your cheeks in and forcing you to make eye contact. “Aw, sweetie, too fuck-drunk to speak? That’s okay; I think you can do it, so you’re gonna have to.”
Brendon’s rough thumb pad connects with your puffy, agonized clit and he rotates his hand so he can also press down on your mons, right where his cock is thrumming. Your hips buck from the sudden wave of intensity and he laughs at just how pathetic you look and sound. Immediately, you feel the head of his cock massaging your walls ten times as strongly.
The building pressure is enough to have you squirming and twitching and you cry out, barely able to speak, “I can’t, Bren, I- Fuck! It’s too much. I’m gonna- I can’t-”
“Aw, come on,” he coos, all condescending and achingly sexy, “my wife isn’t a quitter. Just get out of that big beautiful brain and let go.” He presses down more on the bulge at your lower abdomen where his cock is filling you, the pressure bordering on unbearable. His voice takes on a truly selfish darkness that brings turned-on tears to your eyes. “I can tell you’re gonna squirt, honey, and you’re doing that thing where you try not to because you’re all bashful and embarrassed.”
You whimper as your toes curl into the bed, head thrashing back and forth as, yes, you try and try to resist. “Brendon, I swear to god-”
“None of that,” he chastises. He pulls up the hood of your clit and puts more pressure on the exposed, swollen nerves below. Pressure, pressure, pressure. His voice lulls you into a softer, more open headspace as he assures. “You know there’s nothing to be embarrassed about with me. I want you to fucking soak me, baby. Let go. That’s all you have to do and you’re gonna sleep so good. Just let me take care of you. Let me take care of everything.”
Your eyes open and meet his, dominant blue, encapsulating as the open sea, holding you in the moment the way they always do. When you find his devoted, intimate expression just waiting for yours, your pussy starts to tighten. It comes with that overwhelming urge to pee that Brendon’s made you beyond familiar with over the years. Even though you know exactly what’s going on, your brain still tries to yank up a wall to stop you from bursting.
But Brendon knows exactly what you need. His guidance. His patience. His insistence. His voice is nothing short of a growl now as he talks you through it. “There you go. Just a little more, baby, and you’re gonna get there. Focus on my voice, not anything else. Let yourself relax and it’s gonna feel so fucking good for both. Gonna fill you up like you need.”
You’d be weeping if you could manage any sound above a whisper. With your nails cutting into his skin now, you squeak out, “Cum inside me?”
“That’s right, princess,” he grunts as he works hard to stave off his own orgasm. You’re just so gushing wet and perfectly tight and pulsing and everything he’s ever wanted and more. Losing track of his rhythm and falling apart in his love for you, he swears, “I need to fill your cunt. Need to feel you cum while I do it. C’mon, pretty girl, cum with me. Please. It’s all I need.”
And you have to obey. Your brain whites out as the orgasm thrashes through your entire body, back arching, toes curling, thighs clamping. Wetness floods from your body, soaking your husband’s hand and thighs. Brendon thrusts sharp and short through it, burying his forehead in your neck while your cunt milks him just right. He shudders as he spills inside of you, tasting your sweat on his lips and loving every moment of your orgasm that heightens his. While his cock softens inside of you, he plants kisses like a diamond necklace over your skin, murmuring sweetness and love until you’re completely, perfectly content.
You’re so loose and comfy that you hardly register him scooping you off the bed and carrying you to the bathroom, where he cleans you up and kisses over every place his fingers dug in hard enough to leave marks. He’s so strong he can’t help it. You come back into your body properly sitting on the countertop with Brendon in front of you, kissing your cheeks and studying your expression.
After a moment of just gazing at you, he cups your cheek and drops his voice low and slow. “I love you, baby. You know that, right?”
You grin at the memory of his first ‘I love you,’ which came alongside your first ultrasound with Benji. Just as you said then, you tell him, “More and more every day.”
He kisses the tip of your nose and smiles, shaking his head boyishly like he did when he had a flop of lazy curls that he never put product in. “Let’s get some sleep.”
You glance at the clock on your bedside table and tease, “It’s barely ten, love. Are we that old?”
“I don’t know about you, but I just had my brains fucked out.” He once again lifts you up easily, this time bringing you into your walk-in closet and grabbing some of his favorite skimpy pajamas of yours and guiding them onto your body. “I’m gonna need a solid eight to ten to recover.”
You shimmy into your clothes and then hand him a particularly sexy pair of gray boxer briefs you like the feel of against your ass in the morning. “Does that mean I get wake-up sex?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he promises, nipping more kisses up your neck. He follows less than a step behind you back to the bed, arms around you and destabilizing you until you’re laughing. When he tugs you into his arms beneath the covers, he offers, “You know what I was thinking?”
Snuggling into his chest once he turns the lights out, you half-heartedly murmur, “Hm?”
“Once you’ve had your first day down at the Pitt,” he muses to your half-sleeping form, “we should come up with an order for who we think is gonna figure out we’re together when. Trinity can get in on it, too, so we can swear her to secrecy.”
Written for @carolmunson’s writing challenge. Feel free to join in, you can find the rules here 🧡 everyone say thank you to Carol for taking the time to create something so cute.
“If you don’t stop, we’re gonna have a problem, sweetheart.”
Eddie was grumbling, but it was all affection and barely any real scolding in his voice. It’s why you laughed, a dirty cackle that only came out when you were properly tipsy and you continued your harassment as the boy juggled the his keys and your wobbling frame.
You were still snickering, nuzzling at the boy’s neck, your hands slipping up the inside of his leather jacket and t-shirt. You were bolder after a few drinks, tongue tasting like cranberry and something stronger, tequila shots that Robin brought to the table going down like water and Eddie had declared it was home time when you draped yourself in his lap, glassy eyes on his lips as he tried to talk to Steve.
“You normally - oops - like it, oh fuck, when I touch you,” you bashed your shoulder on the doorframe when Eddie finally managed to coax you inside, your hands still vying for his attention.
Eddie was pink in the cheeks, unused to seeing you like this, the relationship still new, your affection still overwhelming at times. You were a cute drunk, tipsy and hiccuping as you let yourself flop onto his sofa, mumbling something into the cushions. He followed, leather jacket throw on the armchair and he bent, untying your shoes and smiling when you hummed, your toes wiggling in your socks and he pretended to bite at them, snickering when you squeaked.
The trailer was lit by just the streetlights, the rest of the park and the town asleep, quiet in the darkness. Eddie seemed to make the navy shadows a little brighter through, everything about his brash and intimidating exterior melting away to a soft gentleness, just for you.
“C’mon, sit up for me, babe,” Eddie coaxed, pulling at your wrists until he was able to manhandled you into the sofa corner. “M’gonna get you some water and then we’re going to bed, alright?”
“Yessir,” you slurred but the salacious intent was there, all flirt as you tried to wink but one eye simply wouldn’t cooperate.
“You’re jokes, tonight, kid,” Eddie snorted and busied himself in the kitchen, heart overflowing with affection for you, a kind of fondness that clung to the spaces between his ribs and it was times like these he wondered how on earth the town pariah managed to bag a girl like you.
“Here,” he murmured as he walked back over. “We ran out of like, nice cups, is this okay?” Eddie handed you a mug in the shape of some sort of creature.
If you’d been more sober, you would’ve thought it was some sort of demonic Bigfoot, but you were too busy eying at spikes that protruded from the rim of the mug. You glanced back at Eddie warily, accepting his offer with a grimace.
“Watch for the horns,” he whispered when your tooth clinked against one. You groaned, flipping him off as you chugged most of the water, eyes slipping shut and Eddie’s hand found the back of your head before you tipped yourself backwards too much. “Jesus, sweetheart, don’t drown yourself.”
“Sounds like an easier way to go than how m’gonna feel in the morning,” you groaned, already feeling sorry for yourself. The third shot of tequila was a horrible, terrible idea. You vaguely remembered Eddie wincing at you from across the table as you knocked it back. You held the evil Bigfoot mug to your chest and waved him away, almost as dramatic as Eddie himself. “Jus’ leave me here to rot.”
“Aw, don’t be like that,” the boy pouted, hiding his grin behind pursed lips. He was kneeling in front of you again, warm wide hands running the lengths of your thighs and the guitar string callouses on his fingers scratched against your skin just right. “Don’t rot here. S’an awful place to deteriorate. You can rot in bed w’me.”
“Can’t,” you told him mournfully, your empty mug slipping onto the cushions as you let yourself lean forward, face finding Eddie’s neck. He smelled like smoke and spice and the cologne you’d got him for Valentine’s Day. “I’ll be a pile of sludge. Sludge and tequila. So disgusting.”
Eddie snorted, throughly entertained at someone else being dramatic for once. His hands made their way from your legs to your back, slipping nimble fingers inside your T-shirt so he could skate them along your spine. If he hadn’t know any better, he would’ve sworn you purred.
“Hey now, that’s not even close to being true,” he tsked, nudging your head with his until you whined and pulled back, facing him with a pout. He pushed his nose against your own. “My girlfriend is the prettiest pile of sludge.”
It was still new enough that you both got a kick out of him calling you his girlfriend, your body buzzing with a giddy kind of excitement that made your nose crinkle when you beamed at him.
Your forehead touched his, Eddie’s unruly curls brushing your cheeks and his fingers dipped lower, pressing into the dimples on your back and he held you there, fully encouraging whatever it was you were about to do.
Your lips brushed his, a barely there kiss that probably tasted like tequila and cherry liqueur but you were too drunk to care and Eddie really didn’t mind at all.
“You think I’m the prettiest?” You whispered.
“Damn right,” Eddie nodded, his voice laced with stern fondness and he grinned when you smiled even wider. “All the other piles of sludge don’t know what to do with themselves when you’re around.”
It made you laugh, a hiccuping thing that had Eddie kissing at your cheek, the corner of your mouth and the tip of your nose. It was overwhelming, to be doted on like this - your cheeks warm and the alcohol making you softer and sleepier, Eddie’s big hands the only thing keeping you upright.
“You’re so funny,” you mumbled through a yawn, falling forward again to bury yourself into him.
“The funniest,” Eddie agreed mildly, because he was already coaxing you into standing up with him, your socked feet standing on his boots as you swayed. “C’mon, bedtime.”
“You forgot bad day Bigfoot,” you mumbled, pointing back at your empty mug. “He needs to come too.” You lifted the throw pillow that Wayne had once tried to cross-stitch a dirty joke onto, holding it close to your side like some kind of teddy.
One look at your frown told Eddie you weren’t joking, so with raised brows, he grabbed the offending cup and held him in front of you. “He needs to come to bed with us? And the dick pillow?”
An array of different sizes and colours of badly stitched penises glared back at him from under your arm and Eddie raised his brows at you, unsure.
You nodded, already shuffling off into the direction of his bedroom where he knew you’d ransack his drawers for just the right shirt to sleep in. “S’only polite,” you told him.
You couldn’t see Eddie’s responding grin but he filled the mug back up with water before trailing after you. “Alright, but if he starts gettin’ handsy, he’s out.” He caught up with you just as you flopped into his unmade bed, burying your face into the sheets with a hum. “You’re my pile of sludge, remember?”
From beneath Wayne’s pillow, your hand shot out, a thumbs up offered as a sign of agreement and Eddie scoffed as he bit at the digit playfully.
“Fuck yeah, m’your pile of sludge,” was his answer.
When you found out that Eddie didn’t put up a tree for the holiday season, you were borderline aghast. Upset, you’d even say. Mainly because of Eddie’s reasoning, his sad, slow shrug when he’d looked at you with those big, brown eyes and said, “there’s never a lot of us around to appreciate it, babe.”
So you’d looked at him with a heavy fondness that still made him ache with how nice it was, how lovely you looked when you gazed at him. He knew what was coming, saw how the cogs were turning in your head, so he wasn’t all surprised when you draped yourself into his lap, curling into him all soft and sweet.
“You don’t wanna get a tree this year?”
“Babe—” Eddie started, cut off when you leaned in for a kiss and Christ, he’d never say no to that. “—it’s only Wayne and I, and Wayne’s taking extra shifts this year.”
You tried not to pout, tried not to look too sad at his words so you picked up a curl that lay over his cheek instead, twirled it around your finger and watched it spring back.
You looked at him, smiling warmly, shyly, eyes hopeful. “You’ve got me this year too.”
And well, fuck. Eddie couldn’t help the way his lips parted, the way your words knocked the wind from his lungs, the way his heart goddamn throbbed at the way you were looking at him. How was he supposed to say no to that?
So he looked over at Wayne who was sitting on the armchair, pulling on his work boots and trying to hide his smile, because he definitely wasn’t eavesdropping. Not at all.
But the older man looked up at his nephew, tired eyes kind and soft, crinkling at the edges when he looked at you too. He shrugged, standing to leave for work, but not before slapping a twenty dollar bill on the kitchen counter and telling Eddie:
“You heard the boss, get a tree, son.”
When you walked into the trailer the next day, there was a stocky, green tree sitting by the living room window, a little shorter than Eddie and you beamed.
The boy was tangled in lights, hair pulled back in one of your hair ties and his expression was rather disgruntled. The tiny bulbs made him glow, white and warm and turning his skin a rosy pink, eyes shining, stray curls trapped and twisted in the wire.
You’d laughed and the boy had griped, quietening his complaints when you tugged him down for a kiss hello, grinning against him when he huffed when you pulled away earlier than he wanted you too.
But you helped free Eddie from the fairy lights, let him sprawl on the sofa as you laced them around the branches with an expert touch. There weren't many decorations to hang, some were yours that you’d taken from your own attic, happy to see them in a house that you called a home too.
And Eddie had bought some baubles at the store along with the lights, gaudy plastic things that were jewel toned and entirely mismatched but you loved them. You loved the way Eddie let his tongue peek out between his lips as he hung each one, how he did his best to follow your lead and spread them out evenly, trying so hard to make it look pretty.
When the baubles ran out, Eddie found his old guitar picks, threaded them with some twine and hung them on too, grinning when you laughed bright and sharp, running into his room only to return with a box of battered and bruised figurines. Each character came from old D&D games, unused and forgotten about, but Eddie’s heart was bursting as he watched you do the same, stringing them with twine to hang on the tree branches.
The room smelled like pine, glowed warm and pretty, baubles and picks and tiny, silver three headed dragons catching the light.
When Wayne came home, the room was still sparkling, pine needles on the floor, a broken bauble sitting on the coffee table beside two empty beer bottles, one still unopened and waiting for him. Dinner was in the microwave for him, cooked by you, the girl that was tangled in his nephews arms, both of you crashed out on the couch and twisted in tinsel
Honestly? You were pretty sure you wouldn’t have found Eddie if you hadn't managed to catch Wayne before he left the trailer.
You’d pulled up outside the Munson residence just before ten o’clock, the night dark and icy, the kind that made your bones ache with the chill in the air. Wayne was locking up the dark trailer, his truck already running in a half hearted bid to warm it up before he drove to another night shift.
But Eddie’s van was sitting beside it, the windows frosted over - which made no sense when the trailer looked so vacant.
You half ran to the older man as you left your car door open, the crunch of ice under your feet as you walked across the grass. “Hi! Mr Munson?”
Wayne looked surprised to see you, eyebrows lifting in confusion before he walked down the steps and greeted you with a warm smile. “Hey, kid, what’re you doing here?”
“Is Eddie around?” You asked, already feeling like you knew the answer. There was no sound to be heard from the trailer, no TV, no stereo, no faint guitar.
Wayne looked sympathetic, keys twirling in his hand as he sighed. “Uh, I haven’t seen him for an hour or two, but he’ll turn up.” The older man moved to his truck, his hand on the door. “It’s rough this time of year, y’know? The boy - Eddie - he gets, he gets a little down. Misses people who aren’t around anymore.”
Wayne was squinting at you, shoulders tense and his smile was sad, as if he understood Eddie because he felt the same, both mourning a woman who wasn’t there to share the holidays with them anymore.
So you nodded and tried to swallow the lump in your throat, smiling back at the man a little watery. And just before Wayne left for work, he rolled down his truck window and gave you another world weary sigh.
“If you wanna take a walk down that way,” he pointed towards the back of the trailer park. “You can usually find him lurking somewhere he shouldn’t be.”
A glimmer of hope warmed your chest and you took a breath and held it, as if you were scared to let that feeling go. But you turned to Wayne and smiled, nodding. “Thank you, Mr Munson.”
He rolled his eyes before he drove off, engine groaning in protest as the truck started to move. “It’s Wayne,” he scolded you, “I’ve told you plenty times. And hey! Merry Christmas, kid, look after my boy for me.”
You found Eddie in the direction Wayne had pointed you in, his lean frame sprawled out on the roof of an empty trailer. He was bathed in the coloured lights of its neighbour, tiny jewel toned bulbs that were strung around the window frames, the trees in the yard.
You took the same route up that Eddie must’ve, following his footprints in the frost as you clambered onto the deck railing, ready to haul yourself onto the flat roof.
A hand appeared before you could embarrass yourself, a pretty face to match as Eddie’s crinkled brow and concerned eyes peered over the edge at you.
“Sweetheart, what the hell?” Eddie asked but he helped you up all the same, practically lifting you himself so you didn’t have to put your hands onto the icy metal. “What’re you doing here?”
“S’Christmas Eve, Teddy.”
You huffed as you stood a little shakily, the flat roof much higher than it seemed from the ground. So you kept your hand in the boy’s and squeezed it a little tighter, moving into him and away from the edge.
“I know, babe,” Eddie replied softly, tugging you into him. “So why aren’t you with your family, huh?”
You looked up at him with sad eyes and a furrowed brow, wanting to ask him the same. You knew money was tight in the Munson household, both men working as many jobs as they could, whenever they could to keep themselves going. You knew Wayne needed the overtime, you didn’t judge him for that. It just hurt a little to think that Eddie thought the older man was the only family he had.
“I wanted to see you,” you told him and god, he couldn’t be mad at that, could he? Not when you were looking at him with pretty, pretty eyes and an even prettier smile - shy and soft and lifted a little higher on the right side. “That’s okay, right?”
Eddie let out a huff of breath, smiling and turning a little pink around his cheeks. Maybe it was the cold you thought, stinging at his skin. Or maybe, maybe, it was you.
“‘Course it is, babe.”
You followed when Eddie took a step back, his hand still holding yours and he coaxed you back to where you’d first seen him lying, his leather jacket the only thing protecting him from the cold metal roof. He motioned for you to lie on it, his own sweater not doing much to protect him from the ice but he waved away your arguments before you could even open your mouth.
“It’s cold, Eddie, you must be freezing,” you admonished softly, but you lay down anyway, side by side and curling into him. He was all smoke and pine, sugar and warm spice. “It is freezing.”
“S’pretty though, right?” Eddie grinned in response. He pointed up, “see?”
And it was pretty, the stars laid out in the dark sky like another set of Christmas lights, white dots in the inky black. You followed his finger, the like of specks that made up the big dipper, another constellation that Eddie said he didn’t know the name of but liked all the same.
“You do this every Christmas Eve?” You asked quietly, scared to break the bubble of quiet. Your breath froze in the air, a huff of glitter out of your mouth. “Alone?”
Eddie shrugged, still looking up even though you were looking at him. If he blinked, maybe a tear would’ve escaped, a hot trail on cold cheeks.
“Sometimes,” he smiled but it was still a little sad. “S’nice, y’know? Quiet, pretty. I get to say hello to some people I don’t get to talk to all the time. Jus’ a little Christmas tradition.”
You turned onto your side to needle your arm through Eddie’s, chin tucked onto his shoulder, nose pressed to his neck. You breathed him in, lips on his skin and you felt him relax.
“It is pretty,” you agreed, ‘cause the stars in the sky and the lights around the park made everything glow and Eddie Munson had never looked lovelier than under the Milky Way. “But maybe next year, you can come and get me first?”
Eddie could hear the uncertainty in your voice, quiet and too soft, almost going unheard over the rush of a sudden chilly breeze. But he turned to you and smiled, wide, warm palm finding your leg and squeezing.
He nodded, tilting his chin down to brush his lips over your hairline, a reassurance to you as much as it was to him.
“I’d like that,” he whispered.
“I could bring hot chocolate,” you told him, pushing yourself into his touch, his warmth even more. “And a blanket, ‘cause this isn’t very well planned out, Teddy.”
He snorted at your chiding, but he rolled until he hovered over you, elbows pressed to the roof on either side of your head. He looked much happier than before, eyes brighter, smile more genuine. And he nodded, nose bumping yours as he moved.
“Okay,” he agreed, “smart girl, we can do that. Next year.”
The traffic on the I-69 was at a complete standstill.
Unfortunate, considering you and Steve were both supposed to be at the Byer’s house almost two hours ago. The two hour drive had turned into something much, much longer, the BMW crawling along with traffic as the snow got heavier and heavier as Steve tried to get you both to Hawkins before nightfall, hopefully with all your carefully wrapped presents still in one piece in the trunk.
With Bruce in the back, whining lowly out of impatience and probably needing to pee, the air in the car was beginning to get more and more tense. The golden retriever grumbled again and you cooed, reaching behind the seat to stroke a hand over his ear, coming your fingers through his tufts of fur.
“S’okay, baby, we’re not far now,” you whispered and it wasn’t a lie, not really. The highway signs told you that you were only about twenty miles out from Indianapolis and from there, Hawkins was only really another thirty minute drive.
That’s if the snow had blocked off the roads.
The cars in front slowed to a stop once more and the boy beside you swore, frowning in the low light. He was lit up in red, brake lights turning him scarlet and even though it was only five o’clock, the weather was making the day turn to night much quicker than normal. The sky was heavy and tinted a rosy pink, thick clouds blocking out the last of the setting sun as snow fell heavily to the ground.
You knew Joyce would be worried, hoping she’d seen enough of the news channels to realise that you were both caught up in what was turning out to be a pretty bad snowstorm. You just hoped she didn’t send Hopper out on it to look for you both.
“Hey,” you murmured softly, taking your hand from Bruce to Steve’s knee, squeezing gently before running your palm up his thigh. “You wanna swap seats?”
The constant stopping and starting was making Steve far too grumpy, and understandably so, you’d thought. You knew you wouldn’t get much further than he could but you offered anyway, smile sweet and kind as you gazed at him.
You watched him soften as he caught your eye, his hard stare leaving the road to look back at you. His frown smoothed out, his lips lifted and he sighed, tired. His hand found yours, fingers tangling and he shook his head as he brought your fingers to his lips, kissing each one.
It felt a little like an apology for his bad mood.
“Nah, I’m alright, babe,” Steve mumbled, “just gotta wait it out.”
You knew he didn’t want you driving in the snow, could see the worry etched in the crinkle of his eyes, could hear it in his voice when the snow started to blanket the roads in front of you when you passed the signs for Greenwood - the boy slowing down and making sure your seatbelt was on, checking his mirrors to tell Bruce to lie down and be a good dog.
“You look tired,” you said instead of arguing, lips pushed into a sympathetic pout, taking your hand from his only to card your fingers through his hair instead.
He needed a haircut, the ends curling at his ears and at the nape of his neck. You traced the shell of his ear, grinning when he moaned dramatically and let his lashes flutter shut.
“Eyes on the road, Harrington,” you chastised.
“We’re not moving,” he retorted but he opened them anyway, turned to kiss your palm and nipped at your fingers when you pressed one to his cheek. “This is awful.”
The sounds of horns started blaring from the cars up in front, the line too long and the brake lights too bright for either of you to see what was causing the holdup. An overturned truck? A stuck car?
Behind you both, Bruce huffed, his big head appearing between the two seats and he pushed his muzzle to Steve’s ear, grumbling softly.
“I know, buddy,” Steve soothed, smacking a kiss to the side of the dog's head. “We’ll pull over when we can, both of us can take a leak, yeah?”
“Cute,” you deadpanned before rolling your eyes.
“Don’t be jealous,” Steve retorted and he lit up momentarily as the cars moved a foot or two, wheels slipping on the snow before everyone hit their brakes and the traffic came to a stand still once again. “For fuck sake.”
“You’d think we’d never managed a two thousand mile round trip across the country,” you quipped, smiling fondly at his impatience.
“More like three thousand after you got us lost in Yosemite,” Steve grinned back, laughing when you pushed at his shoulder, mouth agape in faux offence.
“You were the one that wanted to go!”
“You were the one with the map!” He was still laughing and at the sound of it, Bruce wagged his tail, a comforting thumpthumpthump against the back seat. “Besides, that trip was different.”
“Well yeah,” you snorted, “this one is a lot shorter—”
“It’s supposed to be,” Steve huffed, “could’ve made it to Chicago by now.”
“—and the last one was definitely sunnier.”
“Lucky for me, I got to sit next to this super pretty girl both times,” Steve was all charm, head leaning back against his seat, eyes bright as he looked at you through messy hair.
You preened, more than happy to accept his flirting, his attention. “Oh, yeah?” You asked.
“Oh yeah,” Steve nodded, making a show of letting his gaze roam over your body, each feature of your face, lingering at your lips. “Total smoke show. Wore a lot less clothes last time, though.”
You laughed, “you’re a perv, Harrington.”
The boy gasped, feigning shock and offence. “Y’can’t say that, it’s Christmas.”
You were momentarily interrupted from retorting as the traffic moved again, an inch, another, maybe a whole twenty feet before the cars stopped again and everyone groaned, Bruce included.
“You know,” Steve started, looking up at the falling snow before gazing over at you, his eyes warm with an affection you’d grown so familiar with. “We should do that again.”
“Do what?” You were smiling, always smiling with Steve, knowing what he was going to say but wanting to hear it anyway.
“Get in the car and just go,” he was looking at you like you were his whole world and it made your chest hurt. “Pack some bags, take Bruce, go somewhere new. A vacation.”
“Yeah?” You asked and your voice sounded dreamy. “Where to this time?”
Steve shrugged, smiling all soft. “Wherever you went, pretty girl. Canada? Or we could go south this time, see New York, somewhere big.”
You were beaming.
“Or, I could take some extra shifts, save up a little and we could get on a plane, ask Dustin if he’d look after Bruce and fly to—”
“You know I’d be happy in a motel in Indianapolis as long as I’m with you, right?”
Steve shrugged and tried to hide smile, to stop himself going pink around his cheeks but it was no use, you’d already seen and you knew him too well. Two years together and it was still one of your favourite sights.
“Besides,” you continued, “I kinda like the idea of being stuck in this car with you again. And this time ‘round, I don’t have to pretend I don’t wanna kiss you for five states.”
Steve grinned, all too pleased with your admission despite the fact that he had to have known — especially after you were the one to throw yourself at him mid-thunderstorm in Colorado.
“A whole five states, huh?” The boy smirked, entirely smug. “Wow, babe, didn’t know you’d wanted me for that long.”
“Shut up,” you retorted, your words held no heat. “If your ego gets any bigger, Eddie’s gonna yell at me for not keeping it in check.”
“I’ll fight him for you,” Steve promised but he was quick to return to your original words. “Five states… that totally means you wanted me before we even left Indiana.”
“Steve, you were the one to kiss me at that party—”
“You were just dyin’ to jump my bones at that first diner, huh?” Steve was gloating, lips curled into a pretty smirk, eyes dancing with mischief and flirt in the red lights. “A coffee, some pancakes and a side of di—”
“The traffic is moving, Romeo,” you interrupted, doing your best to not let him make you laugh but your cheeks were sore from smiling and there was a bubble of happiness in your chest that felt warmer than anything else you’d ever felt.
Sure enough, the line was moving more consistently now and Steve let out a whoop as he stepped on the gas and made the car kick up snow. He grinned when he finally got to turn off of the interstate, gaze flickering to you only to wink, making you shake your head fondly and grin.
The roads to Hawkins were much quieter and much more peaceful, Steve taking it slow as the snow fell steadily, coating everything in white. Bruce had jumped out at a lay-by with Steve, both of your boys taking a bathroom break in the same bush as you shouted stupid shit at Steve from the window, doing your best to make him laugh as he yelled back at you about messing up his aim.
It didn’t feel like returning home as you passed the sign welcoming you back to the small town but it felt like family and it felt like friends, familiar and more comforting than it had ever been, especially when Steve took one hand off of the steering wheel to squeeze at your thigh.
The lights strung up around porches and roofs twinkled in the night, the sky fully black now as you arrived more than three hours late. But it didn’t really matter, ‘cause nothing was a rush, nothing could be a stress when the world was so pretty and quiet.
Everything glittered, the ground, the rooftops, the light line tree branches, the frozen over pond at the edges of the park. And Steve’s eyes did too when he turned the corner on Maple Street and asked you:
“Hey, d’you wanna tell me a secret?”
“Really now?” You murmured back, your smile warm and bright. His words made your chest ache for memories you kept for yourself — long drives, breaking into pools, kisses between canyons, sunflower fields and sun soaked boys who belonged to summer and you. “You not got enough of my secrets, Harrington?”
Steve grinned and shrugged, thumb drawing circles onto your knee. “One more for Christmas?”
So you hummed and pretended to think, cheek pushed to the headrest of the car seat as you kept your eyes on Steve, the profile of his pretty face.
“I’d go anywhere in the world with you,” you told him and your voice was quiet but sure.
“Yeah?” The boy asked and you could tell he couldn’t say much more, his voice a little thick with affection. The car rolled to pause at a stop sign and he took the chance to look at you properly, brown eyes filled with so much adoration it made your breath catch in your throat.
“Oh, yeah,” you assured him, nodding and whispering like you were telling him something scandalous, “don’t you know? I’d jump in a car and let you steal me away.”
“Sounds dangerous,” Steve gasped.
“Stupidly so,” you agreed but the air between you both was sticky with fondness. “Where’s my Christmas secret?”
Steve smiled and pulled into the Byer’s driveway, parking behind Nancy’s car, Eddie’s van and Hoppers cruiser, wondering how long he had left with you alone before one of the kids spotted you both through the window.
Bruce was awake and whining, recognising the house and hearing the noise from inside, the low music from the stereo, the yells of conversation between too many people at once.
“I love you,” Steve said simply, “like, way more than anyone else in the entire world.”
“The entire world, huh?” you said instead of crying, melting into the seat as Steve leaned over the console to you, lips meeting yours for a kiss that made your heart rate pick up. “That’s a lot of people to rule out.”
“Yeah, well,” Steve hummed against your lips, pressing tiny kisses anywhere he could. “We tried the world… or at least seven states in it —”
You snorted out a huff of laughter as Steve grinned, hiding your face in his shoulder as he kept up his kisses between words.
“— and I’m pretty fuckin’ sure you’re my favourite.”
You pressed a kiss to the boy's neck and sighed, too happy to wanna move. “Yeah?” Your voice was quiet and soft, and you didn’t need the reassurance, but it was lovely to have it anyway.
“Yeah,” Steve responded, pushing a kiss to the apple of your cheek before Bruce tried to squeeze his face between you both. “Just don’t tell Dustin.”
You stared at the phone as if it were something dangerous.
The day was seeping into night outside, the sun dying, the sky turning indigo and violet. You shuffled from foot to foot, a hand reaching out to pick up the receiver before changing your mind and pulling back.
You clasped your hands to your chest instead, leaning your chin on them as you pouted, feeling terribly sorry for yourself. Dinner was done, the dishes cleaned, your bedroom too dark, the house too empty. Another two days until your parents returned from vacation, another forty eight hours of pretending that you were okay, that being alone at night didn’t make you feel like the only person left in the world.
‘Call me if you need anything,’ he’d said.
But that meant an emergency, right? Like a power cut or a demogorgon related incident. Or if someone had died. Right?
You hesitated, swore out loud at yourself and picked up the phone, the dial tone mocking you.
‘If you need anything.’
You stared at the numbers on the buttons, the muted blue plastic of the phone looking awfully sinister all of a sudden. But you groaned, squeezed your eyes shut for just a second and when you opened them again, you blew out a breath and punched in Steve Harrington’s number.
It rang once, twice. A horrible trill that made your heart pound and you paced the hallway carpet before stretching the cord long and sitting on the edge of the stairs with the cable wrapped around your ankle. Three times, four times, five times—
“Hello?”
Shit.
Your heart stopped. You swore it did, restarting with a new beat, faster this time, hard enough that it rattled your rib cage and suddenly you couldn’t speak.
Your mouth opened but your tongue felt a little too thick and god, you felt so stupid, why were you calling? What was the boy supposed to do?
“…Hey, Steve.”
You cringed, face scrunched up in embarrassment because you felt like a fool and everything was awful, because you were young with a crush and then, and then—
Steve said your name, warm and like a new kind of hello, voice much brighter than his first greeting. You heard him shuffle around, a soft swear away from the receiver.
“Hey, hi,” he cleared his throat, static through the line. “What’s up? Are you okay?”
You didn’t normally call Steve. In fact, you’d only gotten his number a week ago, when he found out your parents were leaving town and he scribbled it on your hand with a biro stolen from Family Video’s front desk. Most of your communication had been through crackled walkie talkies and fourteen year old children.
“Yeah!” You blurted out, too sharp, too fast. You winced, kicked the stair post in annoyance. “I’m fine, sorry, everything’s fine… I shouldn’t have called, I’m sorry,” you said again.
“Wait, wait, hey,” you heard faintly as you began to pull the phone away from your ear, face burning at how badly it had gone. You paused, held your breath and put the plastic back to the side of your head.
“…don’t go,” Steve huffed, “I’m glad you called.”
A new kind of warmth bloomed inside of you, like wildflowers between your ribs, messy and colourful and bursting from your bones. Your stomach flipped, an invisible rollercoaster that had you standing up and holding onto the bannister for support.
“You are?”
You heard Steve laugh, not meanly, a soft huff of air that made the line buzz and you could imagine his smile, the crinkle of his eyes.
“Yeah,” he told you, “I told you to, didn’t I?”
You shrugged before remembering he couldn’t see you, but that didn’t stop you from covering your face to hide your grin, giddy and wide. You felt like a schoolgirl, talking to that real pretty boy by your locker between classes.
“You did,” you agreed softly. “But I kinda thought you meant it in like, an emergency situation, kinda way, y’know?”
“What, you’re telling me your arm’s not getting chewed by a demogorgon right now?”
You grinned, unwinding the phone cord from around your leg, only to twirl it around your finger instead. God, you were so far gone.
“Oh no, it is,” you told him deadpan, “there’s blood everywhere. I just have an insane pain tolerance.”
Steve laughed, sharp and bright, a sticky sweet sound that reminded you of the summer day that had just left, leaving you in peach and rose coloured shadows.
“Good to know,” he hummed and there was a beat of silence, not at all uncomfortable. “So… why did you call? I’m assuming it wasn’t just to brag about how much of a badass you are.”
He said it gently despite the joke, a soft coaxing that assured you that you tell him the truth without the ground opening up to swallow you whole. And he sounded hopeful, you thought, like he was crossing his fingers and holding his breath like you were.
“Oh,” you cringed again, a hand over your face as you tried to garner the courage to come out with it. “Well, uh—”
It wasn’t like you were expecting outright rejection. Steve was your friend. He was. It just wasn’t the same way that Eddie was your friend, or Nancy or Robin, or even Peter from the grocery store that you always spoke to.
He looked at you a little differently, sometimes for a little too long, with his big, brown eyes, and really, was it even your fault that you felt the way you did when he looked like that?
You just weren’t sure if he felt the same way you did. Like a swarm of butterflies took over his insides when you accidentally touched, like his heart was going to push its way out of his chest when you were alone.
Steve broke you out of your stupor by saying your name again, soft and gentle.
“Shit, um. Um, I was just calling,” you swallowed, your throat filled with broken glass and no confidence. “I was calling to see if you wanted to hang out? Maybe— maybe go to the cinema… if it weren’t a Sunday in a town where everything shuts down. Shit.” You groaned, hating yourself, hating Hawkins.
But Steve laughed again and you could hear the smile on his face when he spoke.
“Or I could come round to yours?”
Shit. Oh shit.
“If you wanted,” he added, voice a little panicked.
“Uh, yeah,” you whispered, eyes wide, hand gripping the receiver like a lifeline. Your heart was beating like a hummingbird, like a tiny little bird on some sort of fucking crack cocaine, there was no other way to describe it. “Yeah, that would be nice.”
Oh my god.
“Cool,” Steve breathed out, relief and something else colouring his tone. Excitement? Relief? “I’ll come round in about an hour? I’ll grab some movies?”
“Sounds like a plan,” you told him, trying to sound cool and relaxed and totally pulled together.
You were very much not cool, relaxed nor pulled together. Your stomach was somersaulting.
“Great, right, okay,” the boy said, “it’s a date.”
“It’s a date,” you repeated, nodding to no one but yourself. You felt dizzy.
And then Steve said his goodbyes and the phone clicked and the dial tone buzzed. You dropped the receiver back into its cradle and pushed your hands to your face, grinning until your cheeks hurt and you yelled.
You could admit that. You’d taken the bait set by a couple of smartass fifteen year olds, too proud and too stubborn to let them get the better of you.
So when Max had asked you to take her and the rest of the party to the skatepark one Saturday, you’d agreed with a smile and the condition that they had to arrange a ride home with someone else. Preferably someone they knew. Like Eddie, or Nancy, you’d added on hastily, rolling your eyes when Max huffed.
Then it all started when Will was lugging his bike out of your trunk and Lucas and Mike were comparing rollerblades. El was by your side, squinting at the older boys going up and down the ramps and then Dustin appeared before you, holding a skateboard.
He was grinning, looking like he was made up of trouble and bad decisions. He wiggled his brows at you and you flicked the brim of his cap, messing up the curls underneath.
“What’s that face for?” You asked, suspicious.
“I bet you can’t do an ollie,” he told you, his voice smug.
You eyed him, unsure whether to even bother asking but then the rest of the kids fell silent and waited on your answer.
You huffed, already regretting it. “What the fu-fudge is an ollie?”
Max eagerly demonstrated, pushing the boys out of the way as she jumped and kicked the board, spinning it in the air before landing on top again, a perfect execution of a move you most definitely couldn’t do. You hadn’t even stood on a skateboard in over six years.
And even when you were fourteen, you weren’t all that good at balancing.
Dustin turned back to you, grinning, holding the board out expectantly. The underside of it was brightly coloured and hand drawn by Will, red vines wrapping around a cartoon monster with too many teeth, demonised dogs dancing around a full moon above it.
“What?” You asked him, staring at the board as if it was offensive. “You expect me to do that?”
Dustin shrugged and Mike snickered, although he quickly fell silent when you glared.
“If you can, we’ll get Eddie to pick us up,” Dustin smiled. It was sly and innocent all at once, and you narrowed your eyes at him. “But if you can’t, you gotta come get us.”
“And take us for ice cream!” Lucas quickly added.
You barked out a laugh, slamming the trunk shut and spinning the car keys around your finger. You headed back to the driver's side, reaching for the door.
“This isn’t a negotiation guys, you can call Eddie to get you, I have plans,” you gestured to the pay phone by the roadside. “Be good and don’t be too stupid.”
You were stopped in your tracks by Mike, grinning at you as he tucked his hands under his armpits and started flapping, clucking comically. It didn’t take long for Max and Dustin to join and before you knew it, even Will and El had started to make the same noises - although you weren’t overly convinced that El knew what it meant.
“Hey, hey, hey,” you barked out, brow furrowed. You hated how annoyed you felt. “Quit it, or I’ll make sure you’ll all have to walk home, you little shits.”
“That whole ‘no swearing in front of kids’ rule that Nancy set up really didn’t last long, huh?” Max asked, eyes wide and full of faux innocence.
You glared at her.
“C’mon,” Dustin urged, smiling wide, eyes crinkled. “Try it.” He held out the board again.
“Bet you five bucks she won’t do it,” Mike whispered to Lucas - not all that quietly.
Lucas bumped his fist against his friends, sealing the deal. “She’s too old,” he nodded, “she’ll break a hip or something.”
You knew they were baiting you. You did. You weren’t stupid. But you were stubborn and the underhand - and false - comments they made had something twisting in your chest. You were never having kids, you told yourself. And yet, you narrowed your eyes and grabbed the board from Dustin, ignoring the way they all cheered.
One badly timed jump, a roll of the board and sickening crunch later, you were sitting on the ground holding your ankle and Dustin was standing in front of the pay phone looking all kinds of terrified.
“Call him!” Max yelled to the boy, grimacing down at you as Will paced around behind her. “She can’t drive now, you idiot!”
Dustin looked panicked, his hat in one had as his curls flopped wildly in his eyes. “He’s gonna kill us.”
“Us?” Mike yelped, pointing a finger back at Dustin, “it was your fault, asshole!”
“Don’t swear,” you moaned, hissing when you tried to bend your ankle. The cement was cold beneath you and your ass was starting to get numb from sitting but there was absolutely no way you could stand up, not even with the offered help that Will kept trying to give you.
“Lucas,” Dustin tried, “you call him!” He waved his fist, the coins from your cars cup holder clinking in his hold.
Lucas laughed and shook his head, “absolutely not, he’s gonna lose his shit.”
“Don’t fucking swear,” you intoned again, feeling utterly miserable as the kids stood around tou, squabbling back and forth with their boards and skates in hand.
Finally, eventually, just as the afternoon was starting to turn into evening and the sky was turning a pretty pink, Dustin jammed some quarters into the phone and hid his face in his hat.
It rang only a few times before you watched the boy swallow hard and manage a wavering “oh, hey, Steve… here’s the thing…”
You didn’t have to wait long for the BMW to come into sight, screeching down the street before squealing to a halt by the sidewalk. One wheel bumped the curb and the car was left a little squint as Steve jumped out, still in his Family Video vest.
“Babe,” he groaned in greeting, hurrying to your side as he knelt down, brow furrowed and concern knitted in the space between. “Baby.”
You were awfully sore by that point, aching ankle, the skin around the bone red and swollen looking. Plus, your ass was cold and numb from sitting, your head pounding from the way the kids had argued above you for the best part of forty minutes.
It was easy to let the tears spring to your eyes at the sight of your boyfriend. Definitely pathetic, but easy all the same. It was a hot prick at the corner of your lashes and although you didn’t let them fall, Steve made a soft noise of sympathy as you looked up at him with glassy eyes and downturned lips.
“Hi, Stevie,” you murmured, holding your hands out to him.
Dustin and Mike snickered at the nickname, a sound that quickly turned into fake coughing as the older boy glared at them. Steve tutted and took your hands in his own, moving carefully and slowly as he helped you stand.
You kept your bad ankle up, hissing at the weight of your foot but Steve let you lean on him, an arm around your waist for balance.
“What happened?” He asked you, voice soft and kind. He looked so sad for you, lips at your hairline to press a kiss there. “Hmm?”
You didn’t mean to glance at the kids. You didn’t. But Steve caught it and the boys were horrible at looking not guilty at the best of times, so when they caught the older boys eye, they all grimaced and dropped their gaze to the ground, examining loose rocks and old gum.
“Really?”
You didn’t know Steve was talking to you until he tapped at your chin with his knuckles. You looked up at him, pouting, not really able to justify your actions but soon, the boy was rolling his eyes and fighting a smile.
“You’re so stubborn,” he muttered, helping you hop over to his car. “Seriously, babe, you let those little gremlins get you on a skateboard?”
Dustin was lingering, peering at you through the window, still looking panicked. “We’re sorry, Steve!”
Max nudged at him as Lucas sighed, throwing his hands up in the air.
“What happened to plausible deniability, Henderson?” Mike grunted.
“We broke Steve’s girlfriend!” Dustin cried back and you snorted despite the pain that throbbed in your ankle.
Steve was too busy dragging your seatbelt over your chest, clicking you in as if it was both your arms that were broken. But you were feeling particularly sorry for yourself by the point, so you let him look after you, a kiss pressed to your forehead, a cheek and the corner of your lips before pulled himself back out of the car.
You couldn’t really hear the scolding he was giving the kids through the closed door, the sound muffled and drowned out by the screech of wheels and brakes from the park behind them. But Dustin looked contrite, El and Will were slowly backing away and Max was arguing back the loudest.
You were still pouting when Steve dropped himself into the driver's seat, his work best bundled into his fist and thrown into the back of the car. He looked a little exasperated, hair standing messily on end from running his hand through it. He turned to you with a frown, noting the way you were trying to keep your foot off of the ground.
“Can we go to yours?” You asked softly, hoping to garner some sympathy with doe eyes and a quiet voice, despite the way it really was your own stupid fault. “Please?”
Steve let out a huff of a laugh, glancing at you briefly as he pulled back out onto the road. He gave your thigh a gentle squeeze and shook his head with a smile that told you he thought you were anything but funny.
“Sweetheart, if you meant ‘can we go to the hospital,’ then sure, I’ll drive you to the hospital.”
You groaned, sounding almost too pathetic but you didn’t care.
“Steve—”
“Babe.”
You huffed, head thrown back against the seat and Steve tried his best not to laugh at your petulance. You didn’t like hospitals, he knew that, but your ankle looked like a grapefruit and he wasn’t going to let you sit in pain.
“C’mon,” he coaxed, threading your fingers through his as he kept one hand on the wheel. Steve pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, warm and sweet. “I’ll hold your hand the whole time.”
You sighed, staring down at your stupid ankle.
“Promise?” You eventually asked. Not that it mattered, Steve was pulling into the hospital parking lot. You were going whether you wanted to or not. “You can’t leave me, ‘kay?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve assured you, leaning over to give you a proper kiss, finger and thumb tugging your chin to tilt your head for him. “C’mon, Tony Hawk, let’s get you patched up.”
inspo from an ask answered by @plainemmanem and thank you @lunatictardis for tagging me!
It was stupid really. Steve knew that. You knew that. But Eddie had challenged him when they were both drunk and at Robin’s Halloween party. Of course, your boyfriend accepted, ‘cause one was as stupid as the other - Steve just happened to be more stubborn.
“Eddie’s single,” you’d reminded him. “You can literally have sex with me any time you want.”
“Please don’t say ‘sex’ right now,” the boy had pleaded as Eddie and Nancy snorted in the background, dollar bills exchanging palms as they watched Steve try not to stare at your tits.
“Steve, it’s been fifteen hours.”
To be fair, he’d lasted longer than you expected. Not without complaint, but it had been eight days and Steve was avoiding touching you, skirting past you and keeping his hands tucked into his pockets like you were a dangerous weapon.
Steve thought you were.
He’d groaned and whined when you bent over in front of him, when you pulled your hair back out of your face, a Pavlovian response that had him squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn’t handle it when you pressed yourself against him, even for something as innocent as a hug and you’d begun to get annoyed, missing your boyfriend's touch.
“This is getting ridiculous,” you’d huffed, ignoring your friend's laughter when Steve had to ease you off his lap during a movie, brown eyes wide and his pretty features panic stricken. “Steve!”
“Baby,” he’d groaned all apologetic, taking your hand instead, pressing a kiss to your palm even whilst you frowned at him. “You can’t get mad at me, please, you know it turns me on.”
Eddie had lost it.
Which is why you’d taken matters into your own hands and begged Nancy to go shopping with you, both of you browsing through the lingerie section at the department store, cringing at the price tags and pretending that the pretty sales lady wasn’t staring at you both suspiciously.
“Remind me why you’re still getting regular sex?” You huffed, holding up something red and lacy. It was so tiny, you weren’t sure which way it went, or where it was supposed to cover.
Nancy snorted, presenting a baby blue body suit to you, too flowery for your taste and you wrinkled your nose. “Because Jonathan isn’t an idiot,” she replied, smirking even though she was blushing. She caught your eye, your raised brows and doubtful expression. “Fine, because Jonathan isn’t as big of an idiot as Eddie and Steve,” she corrected.
So you spent too much money on a set that came with more pieces of lace than you were used to, all black with sheer stockings and a suspender belt. You’d laughed when Nancy pushed some stilettos into your hand, telling you the extra cash spent would be worth it, how it would make Steve lose his shit. And really, that’s what this trip was about.
You knew he was finishing work at five, knew he promised to take Dustin and Lucas to the arcade when he was done so it gave you time to monopolise his bathroom, preening in the mirror as you brushed out your hair and slicked on some gloss.
You were posed and ready for Steve, smiling to yourself as you heard the front door open and close. He knew you were already in his room, your shoes by the front door, some music playing faintly from the stereo on his dresser.
He just didn’t expect to see you perched on the edge of his bed, stocking clad legs crossed at the thighs, hands pressed to the sheets behind you so you could push your chest out a little, all black lace wrapped around soft skin. The heels were a nice touch, you’d thought, kinda intimidating looking, sharp toed and doing everything to make your legs look a mile long.
Steve stopped at the door, eyes wide, jaw slack and a groan came from somewhere deep inside of him, a filthy, filthy noise as he immediately backed away, stumbling into the hall.
“Nononono, baby,” he whined. He sounded wrecked, eyes still on you despite being ten feet away. “Baby, fuck.”
You grinned, not even trying to hide your amusement, your smugness. You made a soft noise of sympathy, all faux sincerity as you uncrossed your legs and stood up, suspender belt cinched around your waist, stockings high on your thighs and heels clicking against the floor.
Steve looked like he was about to drop to his knees. He leant against the wall instead, one hand coming up to his mouth to cover his low moans, throaty and rough, biting down on his fist as he stared at you.
You made a show of it, turning to the side as you peered down at yourself, tits sitting high on your chest with the help of the expensive bra, all sheer material and scalloped edges. You ran your hands down the soft of your tummy, pressed them over the curve of your ass, barely covered by the scrap of lace that acted as underwear.
“D’you like it?” You asked, doe eyed and smiling. “I bought it for you.”
Steve was red in the cheeks, eyes glassy, all flushed and wild looking. You almost felt bad.
Almost.
“Illegal,” Steve ground out, voice strained. He gestured to where your thigh highs were held up by the little straps, ass bouncing a little as you twisted for him, showing off. “That should be illegal.”
“Baby,” you pouted, acting up, acting cute, the way you knew he couldn’t resist. “You don’t think it looks good?”
Steve barked out a laugh, a strangled noise as he edged forward, looking at you like you were his last meal. He looked absolutely wrecked, like the prettiest boy you’d ever seen.
“Yeah,” he breathed out, taking in every inch of you, gaze pausing on your thighs, your tits, the slope of your neck, the cherry coloured shine of your lips. “Yeah, babe, it looks good on you, fucking Christ.”
You grinned, pleased and beckoned him back into his room with a crook of your finger.
“This isn’t fair,” he murmured, low and throaty. “You look fucking insane, oh my god, are you trying to kill me?”
He was babbling, losing it as he walked towards you, hands in his hair as he tried not rip out the strands, doing everything he could to keep himself grounded. It was cute, how he thought he could still win his stupid bet.
Steve kept a little away still, a foot or two between you, close enough that he could smell your perfume, his favourite, the body wash that belonged to him that clung to your skin. He was salivating.
“You’re evil, you’re actually evil,” the boy groaned as you twisted and twirled for him, ass popped out. “I fucking love you.”
“Wanna show me how much?” You smirked, reaching a hand out to trail your fingertips along the skin that peeked out his collar. He was hot, chest heaving, panting for you. “I’ve missed you Stevie,” you cooed, moving in closer. “Missed having your hands on me.”
Steve stuttered over a breath as you took his wrists in your grip, coaxing them to the sides of your waist, you encouraged him to hold you, pressing yourself against him and feeling how painfully fucking hard he was underneath his jeans. It didn’t take much for his palms to drop down to your hips, fingering at the soft nylon of your thigh highs.
You watched him, eyes dark, tongue peeking out between your teeth as you tried to hold back your amusement, ‘cause Steve’s eyes were fluttering closed and he threw his head back, groaning in defeat.
“You look,” he panted out, his breath a hiss. “So. Fucking. Good.”
“Thank you,” you answered politely, nudging your nose against his chin, drawing a line with it up the slope of his jaw. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, sweet and innocent, sticky cherry left behind. “My pretty boy. Want you so bad, d’you know that? Got all dressed up just for you, Steve.”
He leaned into you, hands squeezing at your hips, hard enough to bruise, all semblance of control completely gone. You looked up at him through your lashes, blinking innocently as you watched his eyes droop all pretty.
He was a man gone.
“Fuck, fuck, you did? Shit, sweetheart, this is— you’re just— ohmygod.”
You managed to coax him towards his bed, the backs of his knees hitting the edge of the mattress and he sat without argument, hands grabbing at your waist the minute you settled yourself onto him.
He was rock hard, gasping, pupils blown wide. A pretty, pretty state.
“Oh, my poor boy,” you cooed out, hands smoothing over his forehead, pushing his hair from his eyes. You kissed the high of his cheekbone, peppered tiny kisses over each freckle there. “You gotta calm down, you’re gonna burst a blood vessel, Stevie.”
“Calm down?” He choked out in a laugh, snapping your suspenders against your thighs. His eyes rolled back when you gasped, a pretty, little sound that made his dick twitch under your cunt. “Sweetheart, have you fuckin’ seen yourself? I think I’ve already died.”
“Can I kiss you?” You said instead of real response, ignoring the way he whined, shaking his head as if he actually meant it, as if he had any intention of rejecting you. “Please?”
You stayed still, one hand carding through his hair, the other curled around his neck, annoying the way his pulse jumped and throbbed under your palm.
Steve moved into you, noses bumping, his breath a fast and heavy huff over your lips as you patiently waited.
“M’gonna come in my fuckin’ pants,” Steve choked out, his touch roaming freely over your body now, palming roughly at your tits, finger and thumb expertly finding your already stuff nipple under the lace. “You’re gonna make a goddamn mess of me, baby, s’that what you want?”
You whined, arching into him, ‘cause although you’d started the game, you’d truly missed your boyfriend’s affection. His large, wide palms, greedy kisses, the way he liked to manhandle you in bed.
You nodded, sighing heavy, eyes closing, “yeah, Stevie, fuck.”
He kissed you and it was all over, tongue licking into you the minute you opened your mouth for him, his hand on your jaw, thumb tugging desperately at your bottom lip, urging you to kiss him back as needily as he was kissing you. The sounds he made were sinful, moans and groans and whines that had you rocking your hips, grabbing at him.
Steve was wrong though, he didn’t come in his pants just from kissing you. No. But he did when you pushed him down onto the mattress, hands pressed to his chest as you started a dirty grind over him, the prettiest smile on your face as he chanted your name, groaning and swearing, head thrown back and his nails leaving marks on your thighs.
It didn’t matter though, ‘cause he made it up to you four times that night, right into the early hours of the morning, when he’d snagged the lace of your bra and ripped one stocking, your heels in different corners of the room. And when you both showed up to movie night at Nancy’s, Eddie took one look at his friend and cackled, holding out a hand to each of your friends, crowing happily as dollar bills stacked up.
“You’re weak,” he laughed at Steve, poking at the lavender coloured marks on his neck, the skin that dipped below his shirt.
Steve just batted the other boy away and flung himself down onto a beanbag, opening his arms so you could fall into his lap. His hand found its home, pressed between the tips of your thigh, just decent enough that Robin wouldn’t throw popcorn at him.
He shrugged, grinned up all lazy at Eddie, pressed his tongue to his cheek to try and hide his glee and replied, “Yeah, I know.”
To say you were weird would be unkind, Eddie thought. Certainly hypocritical. But you were most definitely odd, a strange, little thing in the most fascinating of ways and Eddie Munson was absolutely enthralled by you.
He wasn’t sure when it had happened, or even how, but he found you in the passenger seat of his van most mornings, riding with him into town so he could drop you off at work before he began his own shift at the record store. You’d merely been a new neighbour, moving into a trailer two spots down and you’d waved one morning, arms stacked with odd bits. A book, a hideously green cardigan, two balls of yarn, a potted plant that looked a little worse for wear and a jar full of coloured beads.
It started with him staring, wide eyed and unsure, listening to you quietly tell him all about each dog in the trailer park - their breed, their name, their favourite treat. Honestly, Eddie wasn’t even sure if the names you’d told him were real or simply ones you’d christened them with yourself. Either way, he was smiling by the time he dropped you off outside the bookstore, sundress erring on the side of too short, cherry red and floaty and completely mismatched to the odd socks and chunky boots you wore.
You jingled when you walked, too many bracelets and bangles stacked on each wrist, gold chains wrapped prettily around your neck, a pendant that had a bug trapped in amber hanging from it. You were like a little music box, Eddie had thought, always hearing you before seeing you.
He found you awfully endearing, too pretty to put into words, everything you did was done softly, delicate, like the sleepy way you spoke, like the way you said his name, all gentle and musical.
You had a thing for pushing a finger to his cheek when you wanted his attention, fingernails always painted lilac and on the hot summer days, when you were both too lazy to do much, he’d join you on your trailer roof, blankets and towels laid out to protect you both from the hot metal, stretched out and half undressed as Eddie let you colour in his tattoos, work tiny braids into his curls.
So yeah. To say Eddie was smitten with you was an understatement.
It’s why his mouth went dry and his jaw fell slack when he picked you up from work one evening, van idling outside Main Street as he waited on you climbing in.
It was still too warm, despite the way the sky was turning all the prettiest shades of orange and pink, and you clambered into the front cab in your floatiest dress. A too short white thing, printed with tiny sunflowers and Eddie grinned at your big boots, one knee bruised, the other scraped.
“Hey, pretty,” he greeted softly, watching fondly as you got settled, kicking your feet up onto the dash and looking over at him.
Your lips were glossy, a pretty pink colour that matched the flush on Eddie’s cheeks ‘cause you were staring at him in a way that he’d never quite gotten used to. Unabashed, without any shame, like you thought he was as pretty as he thought you were.
“Hi, Eddie,” you replied, still watching him, cheek pushed to the van chair.
“You’re up to something,” Eddie mused, making no move to drive off. He liked these little moments with you, before he drove you both home and had to watch you walk away. “You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“That one,” Eddie grinned, poking a finger to the tip of your nose, every small touch of his unbearably affectionate. “See?”
You’d tilted your chin up, tried to nip at his hand, barely catching his pointer and you huffed when snorted, pulling away. The setting sun was turning him rosy, all tangerine shadows and bright gold light. His brown eyes were a whole other shade of honey, your new favourite colour, you’d once told him.
“I have something for you,” you said as if that explained it, that nervous, shy look that was on your face. You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, feeling awfully unsure before holding your hand out and Eddie didn’t know whether he wanted to pull your poor, chewed lip from your teeth or accept your present.
“You do?” Eddie blinked, leaning in a little more, curious, stomach lifting and dropping with excitement.
“I made it for you,” you told him, breath hitching as he took it from your hand, the threaded bracelet that you hoped fit him. The braided strands matched the colours that were wrapped around your wrist, something that Eddie didn’t miss, a little detail that made his heart tumble in his chest. “Do you like it?”
Eddie looked a little dumbfounded, lips parted prettily as he blinked at you, holding the bracelet in his hands like it was made of gold dust. There was a tiny charm hanging from the end of it, a little bronzed bat that spun when he twisted the treads.
“I love it, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured, finally looking up at you to smile wide, that pretty, slow stretch of a smile that made his dimples appear. “Fuck, ‘course I like it, it’s sick.”
You lit up and Eddie melted. You were too much, too sweet, too lovely. You scrunched your nose at him, overwhelmed with the praise and you didn’t hesitate when he held out his arm to you.
“Help me put it on, yeah?”
So you crawled onto the middle seat, knees pressed to the chair, old sheet music wrinkling under your shins and you guided Eddie’s hand to sit in your lap. If you both shivered at the touch of him against your bare thighs, neither of you acted as if you noticed.
You took your time, making sure the threads were straight and the knot was tied securely but not too tight, the little bat you’d chosen sitting nicely against his wrist. You hummed a little tune as you did so, one Eddie didn’t recognise and he wouldn’t have been all that surprised to learn you’d made it up on the spot.
But he smiled as you worked, head bent so you couldn’t see the way he was gazing at you like a lovesick fool. But maybe, he thought, you sensed it anyway. ‘Cause when you were done, you lifted his wrist to your face, turning him gently until you could press the sweetest, little kiss to the inside of his wrist, just above where his new present sat.
He cleared his throat when you caught him blushing, the highs of his cheeks all rosy and he had to duck his head as he fumbled with the keys, stalling the van, once, twice, before he managed to pull away.
Eddie was a little surprised when you and Robin decided to take up Nancy’s offer of learning how to knit. He was less surprised when Robin gave up after two days, but shocked nonetheless that his friend had attempted such a time consuming thing in the first place.
But we watched you learn slowly, spending Sundays with Nancy at her house, both of you surrounded by colourful yarn, coming back to Eddie with a satisfied grin on your face and pieces of fluff stuck to your clothes - and on the bad days, a few scratches and bloodied marks from misdirected needles.
He watched in amusement as some of your creations made their way into your friends wardrobes. The colder October weather called for layers and warmth, and so Dustin and Mike really could say no to the too long scarves you draped round their shoulders. They were mostly navy blue, a little too skinny and the end piece of one side was a forest green, evidence of how you’d run out of wool.
“It’s avant-garde,” you’d insisted.
Lucas and Max had matching socks, both a bright mustard yellow with a a tiny sheep stitched onto the ankle. When asked ‘why a sheep?’ by the boy, you’d shrugged and told him it was easier to sew than a demogorgon. Lucas agreed, wore his to his basketball games with pride and even though Max had cringed, she liked to wear them under her boots, the ones she loved to stomp around in.
Will, El and Steve all got mittens, some missing a finger, some with an extra one or two, but all warm and soft, they each insisted, always trying their best to spare your feelings. So they were happy when you grinned and Eddie was even happier when he spotted Will wearing them to a hellfire meeting one day, the same fondness he felt as Dustin hung up his scarf.
Eddie felt a little left out, yet to receive one of your handmade concoctions. But then you appeared one night, knocking softly on the trailer door, despite how Eddie and even Wayne had told you that you had a spare key for a reason.
But the boy found you on the step, face nipped by the chill and you beamed at him, hair wild from the wind. He ushered you inside, took you by the hand back to the warmth of his bed and he wasn’t at all surprised when you toppled down with him, legs braced on either side of his hips.
Eddie loved you like this, happy in the softest way, smile shy, eager to touch and be touched. So he smoothed his hands over the denim covering your thighs, squeezing at your affectionately. You had orange fluff in your hair and he refrained from commenting on it, ‘cause you were too busy delving into your handbag that you’d laid on his stomach.
The leather of it was chilly on his bare skin and he flinched.
“S’cold, babe,” he murmured, lifting it slightly, but you were too busy searching to offer more than a distracted mumble back.
“I know,” you told him offhandedly, “s’why I’ve got something for you.”
Eddie raised his brows, lips twisted into an amused smile. “Yeah?”
“Uhuh,” you agreed, pulling out some books and pens, scattering them across his bed. “It’s in here somewhere.”
“I thought you’d finished this last week?” Eddie commented, lifting the book by its front cover. The pages flapped and notes fell out, written in ink of every colour.
“I did, but I forgot what parts were my favourite,” you answered, muffled now, as a knitting needle was held between your teeth.
“Christ, sweetheart,” Eddie muttered, taking the offending object out of your mouth and away from the bare skin of his torso. “You’re gonna do us some damage. What are you even lookin’ fo—”
“Here!” You gasped excitedly, eyes bright as you shoved something colourful at him. “Here. I made this for you. Sorry it took so long.”
The present was a hat, Eddie noted, a knitted thing that actually seemed to be in perfect proportion. It was stripy, each line a different colour, deep reds, forest greens and navy’s, mustard yellow and a dark violet. A pom-pom sat on top, black to match the thicker band that was folded around the stripes and you’d even found a pin to attach to it, a tiny Dio logo that made Eddie grin wide.
“Baby,” Eddie mumbled, voice soft and sticky with fondness. “Baby.”
You preened, watching his brown eyes turn wide with affection and you clasped your hands to your chest, resting them under your chin as you waited for his verdict. You’d tried really hard to make it perfect.
“D’you like it?” You asked quietly.
“You made this? For me?” Eddie asked, voice a little awed. He didn’t get presents all that often, especially one that had that much thought behind it.
You nodded.
“I love it,” Eddie declared and you squeaked as he sat up suddenly, your bag falling from between you both as you clung to his shoulders.
He jammed the hat onto his head with a flourish, curls a little wild and messy as they stuck out from underneath it. He grinned and the bobble wiggled.
“It fits,” you noted with relief, hands petting at the boy’s hair, trying to tame it a little.
“It’s perfect,” Eddie told you, hands circling your waist to pull you into his lap more. You were chest to chest, nose to nose and he kissed at your cheek, your jaw. “You’re perfect.”
You thought you were far from it, the bandaids on several of your fingers suggesting otherwise but you forgot about them as Eddie took your face in one big hand, your still cold cheeks squished gently between fingers and thumb.
He kissed you sweet, warm and tasting like brown sugar and something spiced, all cinnamon and smoke.
“Gonna wear it all the time,” he told you proudly, beaming, dimples on show. Smiley Eddie was your favourite. “Tell everyone my girl made it for me.”
You ducked your head, shy, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt, flushed from the praise the boy loved to shower on you. “Yeah?” You asked to his chest, fingers playing with the chain at his neck.
“Oh yeah,” he agreed, dotting more kisses to the parts of your face he could reach. “You’re gonna have to hide it from me when summer comes ‘round.”
